


Don't Let Me Die Still Wondering

by elljaytea



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 56,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elljaytea/pseuds/elljaytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual exchange prompts Rick to put his detective skills to the test to unravel one of the many mysteries of Daryl Dixon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story diverges from canon between the end of season three and the beginning of season four.
> 
> The title comes from the song by Flogging Molly.

Rick grimaces as he straightens up, feeling the impact of the morning’s physical labour in his aching shoulders and splinter-filled palms. It is a feeling he hadn’t realised he’d been missing until he began his little farming project. The ache of violence has never satisfied him the way the ache of hard work does. In another life, he thinks he could have been quite happy as a farmer. He was never a big do-it-yourself man – not like his father had been – but he used to enjoy weekend chores like mowing the lawn, washing the car or putting up shelves. Back then, Carl was constantly at his side, full of a five-year-old boy’s eagerness to be part of whatever his father was doing. If Rick concentrates, he can still picture the look of wide-eyed admiration Carl used to wear when he watched him. When Carl looks at him these days – if he can be bothered to look at him at all – he does so with an odd combination of boredom and disappointment. Rick’s honestly not sure what hurts more, knowing how disappointed Carl is in _him_ or imagining how disappointed Lori would be in them _both_ if she were here. 

She had seen the danger Carl was in long before Hershel had pointed it out to Rick. Rick had ignored her concerns, convinced that her motherly love for her baby boy was blinding her to the reality of their situation. He believed – he still believes – that Carl needed to learn to take care of himself if he was to have any chance of surviving in this new world. Rick is willing to do whatever it takes to protect his son, but what happened with Otis proved that Carl could still get hurt even if Rick stuck to him like glue for the rest of his life. And that simply wasn’t good enough. Carl needed to take some responsibility for his safety, to learn how to defend himself and to be more aware of his surroundings instead of always counting on other people to ensure he was safe. 

In that at least, Rick has not failed. Carl has become very good at looking after himself. He is a sure, steady shot. He doesn’t panic at the first sign of danger. He has the courage to make difficult decisions and act on them when required. Rick is proud of him, in spite of everything. They are so alike in so many ways, though Carl would doubtless claim otherwise. But somewhere along the way, Carl lost something. Rick isn’t entirely sure how to define it – empathy, perhaps, or compassion – but he knows that the loss has turned his gentle, slightly awkward boy into someone cold and ruthless. He used to wonder, when he finally opened his eyes and acknowledged the problem, if _he_ had been the one to lose it first, and Carl had merely followed his example. But then Hershel’s words about what had happened with the boy in the woods would come rushing back to him, and he would feel a confusing sense of relief. Rick might have turned away Sasha, Tyreese and the others when they needed help, but he had never seriously considered shooting them. He would not have done what Carl had. 

In his darker moments, he tells himself that it was Shane’s lingering influence that prompted Carl to pull the trigger that day. It is easy to believe that Shane’s determination to keep Lori and Carl safe at all costs must have rubbed off on Carl and made him willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to ensure his safety. If he’d been offered a way to save himself, Lori and Carl at the expense of the others, Rick doesn’t doubt that Shane would have taken it. 

Those are the moments when he truly feels betrayed by his former friend. He can understand why Shane fell in love with Lori. He can understand how Lori came to love Shane back, given the circumstances. Hell, he can even understand why Shane was reluctant to give Lori up after Rick found them in Atlanta. The one thing he cannot understand nor forgive is how either of them came to have so little respect for Rick that they would willingly make a battleground of his son. He loathes them both for that far more than he does Lori for taking up with Shane or Shane for trying to steal Lori and Carl from him. And now they are both gone, and Rick is left to deal with a son who thinks him weak for wanting to save as many people as possible. A son who doesn’t trust him to keep them safe. 

“Nice work,” Rick remarks, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He reaches for one of the water bottles they had brought out with them, squinting into the warm Georgia sun as he takes a long drink. 

Carl’s only response is a scowl. Rick frowns and rolls his shoulders back, trying to work out some of the stiffness in his sore muscles. The pigpen they are working on isn’t anything fancy, but it will save them from having to organise a pig-watch in addition to their guard tower shifts. It is almost a month since Glenn and Daryl returned from a run with a pregnant sow in the back of their truck. Rick was sure she wouldn’t last a week, but with Hershel’s guidance they have managed to keep her fed and happy. It won’t be long before they’ll be able to reap the rewards. For the first time in a long time, Rick is starting to believe that things might just work out for them here. 

He opens his mouth to make yet another attempt at getting Carl interested in the project, but immediately closes it again when he sees Daryl making his way towards them. Hershel had been the one who suggested that Rick lay down his gun for Carl’s sake, but it was Daryl whose approval Rick had sought before acting on the suggestion. Daryl hadn’t said much at the time – that wasn’t his style – but he has since found a myriad of ways to show his support. He organised extra runs to ensure they were never short on food whilst Rick was getting the little garden established. He defended Rick’s decision to the Woodbury people who couldn’t understand why a man who had caused such trouble for the Governor now wanted to turn farmer. Most importantly, he made sure he found time every day to come and see how they were progressing. 

Daryl’s silent support would have meant a lot to Rick even if it were just him out here. But Carl seems to have transferred the respect he once had for Rick onto Daryl. As a result, Rick suspects that there are days when the prospect of a visit from Daryl is the only thing that keeps Carl participating in the work. 

“’sup,” Daryl says by way of greeting. Rick shoots him a quick nod before turning back to his work to give Carl the chance to engage Daryl in conversation. 

“Hey Daryl,” Carl says brightly. “You going hunting today?”

Daryl shrugs. “Maybe. How’s the pen comin’ along?”

Rick has to hand it to him. For someone who is as bad with people as Daryl always claims to be, he has an uncanny influence over them. And, for some reason Rick has yet to make out, Daryl appears to have decided to use that influence to plead Rick’s case with Carl. He is constantly asking for Rick’s opinion, and he always makes sure Carl is within earshot when he does so. He turns every conversation he has with Carl around to Rick, emphasising Rick’s contribution to the continued survival of the prison group and downplaying his own. He is subtle in it, so subtle that Rick spent an embarrassingly long time resenting Daryl’s sudden rise in Carl’s estimation before he noticed a pattern in Daryl’s words. He cannot say yet whether Daryl’s efforts have had any impact on Carl, but he is grateful for the attempt. 

Daryl has managed to get Carl talking about their proposed design for the roof of the pen, which Rick chooses to take as a good sign. He catches snippets of the conversation as he measures up another piece of wood, content to be a silent observer of the conversation rather than an active participant in it. The only time either one of them addresses him directly is when Carl excuses himself to meet Patrick for an early lunch. His departure gives Rick the chance to greet Daryl properly. At least, that’s what he intends to do so. What happens instead is that he glances over at Daryl, is momentarily dazzled by the way the sun lends his skin a golden glow, feels a sudden burst of fondness well up inside him, and says, with complete sincerity, “Mornin’ sunshine.” 

Daryl’s reaction is instantaneous and unrestrained. Every visible bit of skin turns bright red, and he bites his lip so hard Rick is half convinced he will draw blood. In contrast, the colour drains entirely from Rick’s face as he scrambles to think of something to say that won’t make the situation worse. He can hardly explain that the word slipped out because he was unexpectedly struck by how _beautiful_ Daryl looked. 

And then Daryl’s lip twitches. Not in anger, which Rick was expecting, but almost as if he is trying not to smile. As if being called sunshine by Rick might not have bothered Daryl at all, and maybe the flush Rick had taken for anger might be something else entirely. What exactly that might be, Rick daren’t think about. It is far safer to mark it down as the mistake it was and move on. 

Except that it turns out that moving on isn’t as easy as Rick had imagined it would be. For the rest of the day, the image of Daryl’s blushing face repeatedly appears in Rick’s mind. He tells himself it is purely the mystery of the thing. He thought he had a pretty good handle on Daryl by now, but this is something Rick would never have predicted. It is perfectly understandable for him to be intrigued by it. He could ask Daryl about it, of course, but he doesn’t fancy his chances of getting an honest answer. Besides, he has always enjoyed puzzling things out on his own – it is one of the reasons he became a cop in the first place. 

He has always been a man who thinks ahead and thinks quickly. One of the reasons he was so good at his job was that he had the ability to come up with multiple solutions to a problem in the time it took some people to recognise there was a problem in the first place. It was the first skill that returned to him when he woke up in a cold hospital bed with only a vase of dead flowers for company. By the time he was ready to leave the room, he had half a dozen potential explanations for the situation. None of them came close to preparing him for the sight that greeted him when he stepped into the hallway. He gave himself a brief moment to process the horror of his surroundings and then he closed his mind to it. He stopped seeing blood and guts and gore and started seeing escape routes and potential obstacles. He got himself out. And he never stopped thinking ahead. Not until he gestured to Daryl Dixon in a darkened department store and the other man reacted without hesitation. Then, his brain had paused for the briefest of moments to inform him that Daryl might be a man that it was worth getting to know. To say he’d been right was something of an understatement. 

Rick’s first impression of Daryl was that he seemed like exactly the kind of man who could survive anything that life threw at him. His second was that he did _not_ seem like the kind of man that would go out of his way to help others do the same. But the squirrels he had slung across his back and the matter-of-fact way he had wandered into the camp made it clear that helping was exactly what he’d been doing. He remembers the regret he’d felt upon realising that the man he was about to piss off was the same man who had been keeping his wife and child from going hungry. He remembers his shocked relief when Daryl stopped fighting against Shane’s hold and allowed Rick to explain what he’d done to Merle. He remembers his surprise at how willing - for the most part – Daryl had been to follow Rick’s lead. 

That was the first of Daryl’s many contradictions that Rick uncovered: for all that Daryl dislikes being told what to do; he’d rather obey someone else than ask anyone to trust _his_ judgement instead. Rick had thought it cowardly at first. He soon came to understand that it was a result of how much time Daryl had spent around people who made him feel like his opinion didn’t matter, like _he_ didn’t matter. He hopes Daryl doesn’t feel like that anymore. Rick isn’t the only person who has tried to make Daryl feel respected and appreciated. He likes to think that the fact that Daryl accepted a position on the council means that it is working. 

What little Rick knows for certain about Daryl – and it is very little – he knows because Daryl volunteered the information. He has guessed at other things, but he’s never been brave enough to seek confirmation for his theories. Daryl has never responded well to people questioning him about his past. Rick still doesn’t know how Daryl and Merle came to be at the quarry in the first place. But every now and then they’ll be out on a run together and out of nowhere Daryl will tell Rick about the first time he killed a squirrel – he was seven and he cried afterwards – or the dozens of times he took off in his truck with the intention of getting out of Georgia only to find some bullshit reason not to go. Each new piece of information is precious to Rick. He guards them selfishly, sharing them with no one. 

And now he has a chance to add one more piece of information to his treasure. The opportunity is simply too good to pass up. Plus, it would do him good to have something other than Carl to think about for a while.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter. It is never easy to make your first post in a new fandom, but you have made it much less frightening for me. Cheers!

Rick was never much of an academic. He had been a reasonable student when he was sitting in a classroom. But he could never understand why anyone would want to pick up a textbook at home when there were games to play and movies to watch. His old school reports are littered with teachers insisting that he would be an excellent student if only he applied himself more. Their pleas never moved him. As long as he got good enough grades for his parents to allow him to continue playing on the school baseball team, Rick was content. 

The one brief exception to this philosophy was science class. Rick can still vividly remember being eight years old and watching Mr Jenkins make a volcano out of baking soda and vinegar. The whole class had cheered as it fizzed and oozed all over the table. It was like nothing else he’d ever learned at school. When he got home that afternoon, he had immediately set about repeating the activity in his kitchen. His older sister had watched in confusion as he pulled random items out of the cupboards and mixed them together in search of the magic combination. When he finally got frustrated enough to ask for help, she patiently explained to him why the reaction only occurred with a specific combination of ingredients and together they made Mount Grimes erupt. Always a curious child, he questioned her further as to how someone came to know that it was only baking soda and vinegar that produced the desired reaction. Rather than give him the kind of flippant answer his parents were occasionally guilty of when he asked too many questions, she told him all about the process of scientific experimentation. 

Granted, a lot of Diana’s explanation had gone over his head, but he had been fascinated all the same. At the time, he’d been too young to understand his fascination. As he grew up, he became aware that there was something about the simple, straightforward methodology that was very satisfying to him. It made sense to move from hypothesis to research and experimentation to analysis and eventually come to a conclusion. For a few years, he was a diligent science student, even topping his class one year. His grades plateaued, however, once being a good student required more than just listening attentively. But he never lost respect for the theory. 

The scientific method was an approach he consistently applied to his work, despite his colleagues frequently telling him he should trust his instincts more instead of running around collecting fingerprints, hair samples and witness statements. It is true that often Rick’s first impressions about a case turned out to be correct, but he preferred to have evidence that supported those impressions before he went ahead and made a call. 

English class, on the other hand, was a constant struggle. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested; he was just never any good at analysing a text to uncover its hidden meanings. Rick was raised to be an honest, plain-speaking man, and it frustrated him when people – even authors – hid their true intentions behind flowery language and false friendliness. He would avoid people like that completely if he could, but it just wasn’t possible. And being a cop meant that Rick had even more people than most attempting to hide the truth from him. They had, of course, received training in spotting tells and nervous tics and other signs that would help them uncover a person’s secrets. Even so, he had never felt that he was particularly skilled at it. For him, trying to understand a person was like trying to understand a classic novel or worse, a poem. Everything that happened with Shane only reinforced Rick’s belief that he doesn’t have the necessary skills for that kind of thing. He is determined not to misread Daryl as badly. 

Not that he thinks there is even the slightest chance that Daryl will turn out to be anything like Shane. Daryl might be a complicated man, but he’s not a deceitful one. Therefore, Rick figures that his task ought to be quite easy. All he has to do is observe Daryl for a couple of days. An explanation is sure to present itself. 

It doesn’t. Much to Rick’s frustration, he is as confused four days after their exchange as he was when it occurred. 

Turns out, whilst Daryl might not be deceitful, he can be remarkably crafty when he chooses to be. He never tells any of the boys who’ve joined them at the prison that he won’t teach them to shoot a crossbow, for example, but he always has a plausible reason for why he can’t teach them _right now_. If he disagrees with someone – and he feels strongly enough about the disagreement – he seeks them out to discuss it one-on-one rather than confronting them in front of a crowd. He tolerates well-meaning suggestions about potential hunting spots with a politeness Rick would not have credited him capable of in the early days of their acquaintance. 

A few days of observations like these lead Rick to decide that simply sitting back and waiting for an explanation to present itself might not be the best idea after all. He is watching Judith grasping clumps of grass in her chubby fingers and studying them intently when his childhood fascination with exploring the world around him suddenly comes flooding back. It occurs to him at that moment that perhaps a more scientific approach might yield the answer he is seeking. 

The realisation brings with it a sharp pang of sadness for the loss of his beloved sister, who first explained such things to him. His parents are long gone. Whilst there are still times when Rick misses them, he has had several years to reconcile himself with their deaths. Diana and her family moved to London several years ago. Where she is now, Rick can only guess. He clings to the hope that they are still alive, but the reality is that it no longer matters. The chances of them ever seeing each other again are slim to none. Family now is Carl and Judith and bunch of relative strangers with little in common beyond the fierce desire to survive. 

He pushes all thoughts of Diana aside and focuses on formulating a plan. 

**Step 1: State the question**  
• What do you want to know about the world?  
• Why do you want to know it?  
• How can science help you answer the question?

The first bit is simple: Rick wants to know if there was even the slightest chance that Daryl was pleased with what had happened. And if so, then why? He can understand why Daryl might be pleased to be given _some_ kind of nickname by Rick. It was Daryl, after all, who had christened Judith ‘Little Asskicker’. Rick recalls enough basic psychology to know that nicknames are a sign of belonging, particularly among men. It is not something that has taken off amongst the prison group, despite how close they’ve grown. He suspects that has something to do their collective memory of Merle spitting less-than-polite monikers at people rather than bothering to learn their names. Still, there is a world of difference between the kind of nicknames men like Merle Dixon give to people and the one Rick had accidentally bestowed on Daryl. 

As for the second point, the easy answer to that is curiosity. There is rather more to it than that though. He wants to know because he wants to know _Daryl_. For all the important things he knows about the man – his fierce loyalty, his skill with a crossbow, his endless courage – there are a dozen things he doesn’t have a clue about. There are few things that can bring a smile, even a hastily aborted one, to Daryl’s face. If being called sunshine is one of them, Rick would make a point of saying it whenever he can. Daryl deserves whatever small piece of happiness any of them can send his way. If, on the other hand, Rick’s initial thought was correct and Daryl _was_ angry, then he’ll never say anything like it again. The bottom line is: Rick wants to know if he unintentionally offended his friend so that he can avoid doing so in the future. 

And finally, Rick is not entirely sure that science can help him find an answer, but he feels more confident about his chances of coming to the correct conclusion if he works through the problem methodically. Science certainly has the _potential_ to help, if Rick thinks very carefully about the process. And if it doesn’t, well it’s not as though he is short of time to come up with something else. 

Now that he has begun, Rick is keen to move forward with his new approach. At the moment though, there are more pressing matters to attend to. Like his son, who is currently staring at him with furrowed brows and an exasperated frown. It occurs suddenly to Rick that he has been utterly silent for the past half an hour whilst he mulled things over. Given how much effort he has been putting in recently to encourage communication between the two of them, he can’t blame Carl for being worried by his silence. He knows – the whole damn prison knows – that Carl is waiting for him to snap again. The memory of how he had abandoned his children in the aftermath of Lori’s death makes him physically ill. Even if they can eventually repair their relationship, he will never forgive himself. The fact that Carl will look at him at all – even if it is with contempt – is more than he deserves. 

“Did you say something?” Rick asks, shooting Carl a guilty look. He straightens up and rests his hammer against his leg. 

“Several things,” Carl replies, eyeing Rick suspiciously. 

Rick sighs and runs a hand through his sweaty curls. “Shit. I’m sorry. I got a bit lost in my thoughts there.” 

Carl must be feeling merciful today – thanks in part, Rick suspects, to the fact that he hadn’t apologised for cursing in front of him the way he used to – because he merely shakes his head and thrusts a water bottle in Rick’s direction. 

“Thanks,” Rick says. He takes a long drink and then hands the bottle back to Carl. “I don’t suppose you fancy repeating any of those things you’ve been saying?” he asks hopefully. He wipes the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand. 

Carl rolls his eyes as he sets the water bottle down and picks up the piece of wood that serves as their makeshift ruler. “I was just wondering what you thought the chances were of there being more animals out in the woods that we could bring back here.” 

Rick cocks his head to the side and fixes Carl with a contemplative stare as he considers the question. He hadn’t honestly expected Carl to reply at all, never mind replying with a question that implied that he actually cared about what they were doing. And it is a good question. Rick would be lying if he said he hadn’t asked himself the same thing already, but to dare to hope for a positive answer seems outrageous. 

“I wouldn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” he says carefully. They’ve all given up pretending that one day everything will be okay again, but Rick is reluctant to discourage the hope that things might one day be _better_. “Finding one was a complete surprise to all of us. But if she can survive who knows how many months out there then it is not impossible that others have too. And if there are any out there, Daryl will find them.” Of that at least he is confident. 

Carl nods slowly. “I hope he finds chickens,” he says wistfully. 

“Chickens?” Rick queries. He doesn’t remember Carl being a particularly big chicken eater. 

“I miss eggs,” Carl admits sheepishly. 

Rick risks a laugh and is relieved when Carl offers up the smallest of smiles in return. “Me too,” he replies. He wants to reach out and ruffle his son’s hair, but he is scared of breaking the day’s tentative peace. “I’ll ask Daryl to keep an eye out.”

Carl nods again and turns back to the fence post he’d been measuring. Rick watches him for a moment more before turning back to his work. They don’t speak much more, apart from trading the water bottle back and forth, but it feels like progress. Very slow progress, perhaps, but progress all the same. 

“Hey,” Rick says later, when the returning roar of Daryl’s motorbike unofficially signals the end of their working day. “Why don’t you take a day off tomorrow? Sleep in. Read one of your comic books. Spend some time with Patrick. Whatever you feel like.”

“Really?” Carl asks eagerly. 

“Yeah,” Rick replies. They’ve managed to hammer together enough pieces of wood to make three sides of the pen now. “We did good today. I reckon we deserve a break.”

“Sounds good to me,” Carl says brightly. He gathers his tools together and places them in a canvas bag Daryl found for them. “I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner.”

“Okay.”

Carl heads off, leaving Rick to finish packing up. He smiles in satisfaction as he surveys their handiwork, piling a few stray pieces of wood together before following his son back to the cellblock.


	3. Chapter Three

Despite the promise of a day off, Rick still wakes early the following morning. But instead of forcing himself to get up he reaches for his torch and _The Old Man and the Sea_ and settles in for a long overdue reading session. In his old life, Rick probably read one book a year. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment these days though, so Rick, like most of the other occupants of the prison, has become a frequent visitor to the surprisingly well-stocked library. Carol had even joked the other day about setting up a book club. 

As engaging as the story is, Rick soon finds himself feeling restless. With a sigh, he rolls out of bed and pulls on his jeans. Fleetingly, he wonders if he will ever be able to enjoy a day off again. 

The sun is still rising when he steps outside to walk the fences. Whilst he trusts that if anything were to go seriously wrong during the night, the person on watch would alert them, he still wakes every morning with the need to reassure himself that they are still safe. It has become something of a ritual for him to take a walk around the prison first thing in the morning, a ritual that has become quite pleasant in recent weeks. After so many months of doubting every decision he made, it is a relief to greet each day with evidence that not only are they safe here, but they are actually thriving. 

He looks up as he passes the guard tower and raises a hand to acknowledge Maggie’s weary smile. She nods once to signal that all is well. Rick returns the gesture before making his way to the inner fence, pausing for a moment to glance out across the outer field. He can just make out a handful of walkers staggering and swaying in the early morning light. Their low rumbling groans have become as familiar to Rick as birdsong once was. As long as they remain on the other side of the fence, Rick is content to leave them be. 

The fresh air energises his body even as it calms his mind. His thoughts are, as usual, firstly of Carl and Judith. He and Carl had made real progress yesterday, if the smile Carl had given him when he bid him good night is any indication. Little Judith grows sweeter every day, which isn’t surprising given how much time she spends with Beth. They will probably never have the life they deserve, but they have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. For now, that is enough. 

It isn’t long before his thoughts turn to Daryl. 

**Step 2: Do your research**  
• See if anyone has asked your question before  
• Research similar questions  
• Ask others for advice

Rick is fairly certain that no one has ever _needed_ to ask his question before now. Daryl doesn’t strike him as someone who is accustomed to affectionate nicknames. Or any sign of affection really. Rick supposes Daryl might have welcomed such things from his mother back when he was a boy. He also supposes that Daryl’s father and brother would have actively discouraged that kind of behaviour. It is not difficult to imagine a young Daryl running to his mother with a skinned knee only to be told by his father to stop being a pussy. He can easily imagine Merle beating out any sign of weakness from his younger brother. With influences like that, it is little wonder that Daryl tends to shun the softer side of human interaction. 

He tries changing tact and picturing an older Daryl in a house somewhere with a woman whispering ‘Here you go baby’ as she sets a plate of food down in front of him. The image seems wrong somehow, though Rick can’t explain why. Daryl has never mentioned a woman, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one at some point in his life. 

Rick is fairly certain he has heard Carol call Daryl ‘Pookie’ before, and their friendship doesn’t seem to have suffered for it. He is not certain whether Daryl truly likes it or if he merely tolerates it because he doesn’t want to offend one of the few people whose company he actively seeks out. Even if Daryl did like it, that hardly answers the question. Carol is a woman. That counts for something in situations like this. It doesn’t tell him anything about how Daryl feels about hearing something like that from _Rick_. 

He needs more information. 

Glenn is carefully measuring out a portion of stale cereal when Rick enters the kitchen. Rick makes a beeline for him, glancing around to make sure that Daryl isn’t in the room. 

“Hey,” he says quietly as he reaches Glenn. 

“Morning Rick,” Glenn says warmly. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You ever call Daryl something other than Daryl?”

Glenn’s eyebrows crease in confusion. When it becomes apparent that Rick isn’t going to elaborate on his reason for asking such an odd question, Glenn shrugs. “Called him an asshole a couple of times back in Atlanta. Never to his face though. Does that help?”

Rick frowns. “I was thinking more…something nice.”

“Nicer than calling him by his name?”

There is a keenness to Glenn’s gaze now. Rick feels himself beginning to blush. He ducks his head and hopes that Glenn hasn’t noticed. The weeks spent living on the run, constantly on the look out for food, shelter or danger, has heightened all of their powers of observation. He will have to be more subtle about this if he wants to avoid arousing the suspicions of his friends. Luckily, Maggie appears just in time to save Rick from any further questioning. Glenn shoots Rick one last curious look before moving to join his wife. 

Beth brings Judith over to have breakfast with her father. Rick jumps at the opportunity to spend some quality time with his daughter as the rest of the prison begins to stir. Daryl is one of the first to join them, giving Rick the opportunity to engage in some covert observation. Daryl makes a valiant attempt at eating alone, but there are too many people too keen to thank him for the deer he’d brought back the previous day. He is soon engulfed in grateful smiles and eager chatter. Rick watches it all unfold with a smile. Daryl seems to have resigned himself to accepting the gratitude of the newcomers, though any overtures at friendship beyond that are met with wariness. 

Not for the first time, Rick feels stupidly pleased with his position in Daryl’s life. It is a point of honour for him that even with all the mistakes he has made, he has earned the respect and trust of a man like Daryl. Though Rick could never have anticipated how deep their bond would come to be, he had known from the day he met Daryl that forging _some_ kind of relationship would be advantageous to them all. Lori and Shane had disagreed, insisting that if Daryl wanted to leave the group he should be allowed, even encouraged to do so. How they could have failed to recognise the value of Daryl’s hunting skills is beyond Rick, especially given that they were benefitting from them on a daily basis. 

Turns out, necessity can be the mother of friendship as well as invention. Rick’s not ashamed of the fact that initially he only made an effort with Daryl because he thought he could be useful. After all, the only reason Daryl made an effort with Rick is that he thought it would lead him to his brother. Rick sometimes dreams that they made it back in time to free Merle. It always plays out the same way. In an act of gratitude, Daryl prevents Merle from shooting Rick and then the brothers disappear together. Daryl’s truck is long gone by the time Rick, Glenn and T-Dog make it back to camp. They never see each other again. 

He does feel a bit ashamed of the relief he feels that things didn’t turn out that way. Daryl did lose his brother, after all. In fairness though, he is relieved as much for Daryl as for himself. Daryl still misses Merle, of course, but in a way the life he has now is the best he has ever known. Daryl is appreciated here. And sure, that appreciation began with what Daryl could do for them, but it has grown into an appreciation of the man Daryl has become. Their friendship might have had an inauspicious beginning, but Rick has no qualms now about naming Daryl one of the best friends he has ever had. 

Whether or not Daryl reciprocates is anyone’s guess. In fact, that would do as one of the similar questions the method recommends establishing. Does Daryl consider Rick a friend? A good friend? Was he pleased about the nickname because of the name itself or because it was Rick who said it? What would he have done if it had been Maggie? Or Glenn? Does it matter either way? Is there another explanation for Daryl’s behaviour that Rick hasn’t considered? Are there other things Rick could call Daryl that would be garner the same reaction? 

Rick can see the benefit of getting someone else’s perspective on the situation. It would have to be someone from Atlanta though, someone who has known both Rick and Daryl long enough to see their relationship develop. Carl isn’t old enough to understand the complexities of adult relationships. That reduces his already meagre options to two people, neither of whom are particularly encouraging choices. Glenn would probably be too amused to provide any useful advice and Carol has her own complicated relationship with Daryl to figure out. And even if there were someone, Rick couldn’t do that to Daryl. Daryl would undoubtedly be mortified if he found out that Rick had spoken about him to the others. No. If Rick is going to figure this out, he’s going to have to do it by himself. 

“Mornin’,” Daryl says gruffly as he appears at Rick’s side. 

Judith gurgles happily at the sight of him. Daryl’s eyes soften as he leans over Rick’s shoulder to smooth Judith’s downy hair. 

“You ain’t workin’ today?” Daryl asks, taking a seat opposite Rick. 

Rick shakes his head. “Day off.” 

“You deserve it,” Daryl says, nodding his approval. “Too hot to work today anyway. Don’t want ya keeling over in the heat.”

Rick rolls his eyes, but he’s touched by the concern. 

“And Carl?”

Rick shrugs. “Probably still in bed.” It is the first time in weeks that he hasn’t known exactly where his son was. It feels good. “I thought he could use a break from me.” A rueful smile steals across his face. 

“Probably,” Daryl replies, only the quirk of his mouth giving any indication that he is teasing. 

They fall into companionable silence whilst Rick finishes feeding Judith. “What about you?” he asks Daryl eventually. “You been out yet?”

Daryl nods. “Couple a rabbits from the traps near the creek. You should give me a hand with ‘em. Make sure you ain’t forgotten all I taught ya.”

Rick smiles. Daryl in a playful mood is a rare but always welcome thing. “Give me a few minutes to get Judith settled with Beth and then I’ll meet you outside.”

*

They’re on to their second rabbits when Daryl says, apropos of nothing, “Carl’ll come round eventually.”

Rick freezes. He has been careful not to burden the rest of the group with his worries about Carl, but Rick figures that if Daryl brought it up he can’t be too bothered about hearing about it. “You really think so?”

“Course,” Daryl replies confidently. “He’s a Grimes. Y’all are stubborn sons of bitches, but ya come round eventually.”

Rick huffs out a laugh. 

Sensing that he hasn’t quite succeeded in convincing Rick, Daryl clears his throat before continuing, “You been tryin’ to do right by all of us since the day we met.”

“Didn’t exactly work out so well,” Rick interjects bitterly. 

“Don’t matter,” Daryl insists. “You tried. Yer still tryin’. Most people woulda given up by now, but you ain’t. And you ain’t letting none of us give up neither.”

Rick offers up a grateful smile. He has always been eager to please, but he hadn’t realised how much he craved _Daryl’s_ good opinion until it was freely offered up. “I’m sorry about Merle,” he says soberly. 

Daryl blinks in surprise. 

“I should have said it earlier,” Rick acknowledges apologetically. 

Daryl grunts, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken. “You ain’t gotta pretend to be sad for my sake.” 

“I’m not,” Rick says firmly. “I might not have cared much for Merle, but he was your brother, and you lost him. And so soon after finding him again. I’ll always regret that.”

Daryl shrugs. “Wouldn’tve worked out anyway.”

“Maybe not,” Rick admits. “I’d hoped that if we gave everybody some time – ”

Daryl shakes his head. “He never would have stayed.”

“Would you?” Rick asks, trying not to let Daryl see how much Rick fears the answer. 

Daryl fixes Rick with a piercing stare. “Came back for ya, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Rick murmurs, “you did.” 

“Well then,” Daryl replies, in a tone that makes it clear that the conversation is officially over. 

Well then indeed, Rick thinks as he finishes his second rabbit and wipes his hands on an old t-shirt. He bumps his shoulder against Daryl’s companionably before steering the conversation around to the next supply run.


	4. Chapter Four

Daryl is quite possibly the most difficult person Rick could have chosen to observe. He is often away from the prison, sometimes for several days, hunting or taking a group out on a supply run. He might have gotten used to being surrounded by people, but he still takes every chance he gets to sneak away and be by himself for a while. Rick is reluctant to intrude on those rare moments purely to satisfy his curiosity about something that is, at the end of the day, probably not that important. Daryl is also incredibly observant, which means that he keeps catching Rick staring at him. Daryl hasn’t called Rick on it yet, but it is only a matter of time. 

Despite the many obstacles, Rick manages to amass quite a bit of useful information during the research phase of what he has taken to calling Operation Sunshine. A couple of months ago now, at Hershel’s suggestion, they had all been allocated a small notebook to record their thoughts and feelings. Rick had scoffed at the idea at first, but he soon found that writing down all the things he wasn’t brave enough to say to anyone really did make him feel better. These days, instead of filling his pages with bitterness and regret, Rick fills them with facts about Daryl Dixon. 

He can tell whether a supply run was successful or not by the speed at which Daryl dismounts from his bike. He knows that Daryl always makes a point of thanking the people who serve up dinner, even if he was the one who provided most of the ingredients. He has begun to catalogue the subtle variations in Daryl’s eyes – the guilt that still haunts them whenever he looks at Maggie or Glenn, the way they crinkle slightly when he is amused, the softness that Judith brings out. He has noted how often Daryl seeks out his company, sitting next to him at meal times or joining him in the guard tower when it is his turn on watch. 

The signs are promising, but Rick knows that if he wants an answer to his question he is going to have to stop passively watching and start taking action. 

**Step 3: Form a hypothesis**  
• What do you think is the answer to your question?  
• Why do you think this is the answer?  
• Can your prediction be tested?

It might just be wishful thinking, but Rick is starting to believe that the answer to his question is that yes, Daryl had liked it, and he had liked it because it came from Rick. Even before this whole thing started, Rick was aware that his opinion mattered to Daryl in a way that no one else’s did, not even Carol’s. He doesn’t think it is arrogance to say that Daryl wants to be relied on and trusted by Rick. But what his observations over the past couple of days are starting to suggest is that Daryl might also want to be _liked_ by Rick. 

Being liked isn’t something any of them has had time to worry about for a while. When they left the quarry together, they did so not because they liked each other but because it was safer that way. They were all more concerned with staying alive than making friends. Rick certainly had little time for anyone other than Carl, Lori and Shane in those early days. They all snapped at each other at one time or another and said things they didn’t mean, not worrying too much about the feelings of someone who was essentially a stranger. They relied on each other because they had no other choice. It wasn’t until they were on the run after the Greene farm fell that Rick had a chance to get even begin getting to know his fellow survivors. 

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that their little group consisted of people who, whilst they were vastly different to himself, he did genuinely like. They are resilient, determined and far more capable than he originally gave them credit for. He soon came to appreciate both Carol’s blunt pragmatism and Beth’s relentless optimism. He admired Hershel’s unshakeable moral compass, T-Dog’s quiet resourcefulness and the sheer force of will that kept Lori going as her pregnancy advanced. He felt proud to see Carl master his fear to do his part in keeping them alive. He watched as Glenn and Maggie’s relationship blossomed, transforming them both into fierce protectors of the ones they love. He marvelled at Daryl’s knowledge of the natural world, at the extent of it and at how willingly and patiently he imparted it to Rick when they started hunting together. They would probably never have been friends in their previous lives, but they are as dear to Rick now as any friends he has ever had. 

Even after they found the prison, Rick’s sole concern was their continuing survival. As long as they listened to him, he didn’t care what people thought of him. It wasn’t until they successfully fought off the Governor’s attack that Rick started thinking of the prison as home instead of just shelter and the people in it as the only ones that mattered to him now. With this realisation came the desire to return to the man he used to be, to show the best of himself to his newly adopted family. He’d been an amiable man once. He was never the most talkative person in the room, but he had a good sense of humour and an easy manner that seemed to make people feel comfortable around him. He waved at his neighbours and lent them his lawnmower and hosted annual Independence Day barbecues. What’s more, he enjoyed it. Surely it wasn’t too late for him to be that man again? 

He doubts that Daryl’s past was as social as his, but that doesn’t mean that Daryl has never craved friendship. Rick is pretty sure that Daryl has never had a real friend before though, so it may be that he didn’t realise that what Rick had said was somewhat out of the ordinary. That would certainly explain why he hadn’t reacted with disgust. He must have interpreted the exchange as nothing more than an affirmation of their friendship, something he appreciated in the same way he appreciates it when Rick looks to him for his opinion. So as absurd as the idea of Daryl liking Rick calling him sunshine seemed at first, when you consider it from every angle it makes a certain kind of sense. It is not the only explanation, of course, but it is the most likely. 

Any further contemplation is put on hold when Glenn arrives to see if there is anything Rick needs for the garden on their next run. He puts in a request for more zucchini seeds and some chicken wire to make a frame for his beans. Glenn laughingly admits that he always hated zucchini until he found himself in a world where _any_ fresh vegetable seems like a treat. In response, Rick confesses to having to work at developing a taste for the tinned tomatoes that form such a staple part of their diet these days. The admission leads them into a discussion about the foods they do like and the foods they miss the most. Glenn eventually settles on his grandmother’s chicken and dumpling soup whilst Rick opts for a juicy hamburger with fried onions and spicy relish. The conversation quickly evolves into the two of them listing anything and everything they miss about the old world, from pinball machines to staples to new socks and espresso martinis. 

Dwelling on a past that was so remote it might as well have been a dream used to seem to Rick to be a special kind of self-loathing, one that he often practised in his darker moments. Now he embraces it as a way of reminding himself of his humanity and of the fact that, at the end of the day, he is one of the lucky ones. The fact that Glenn, Sasha and Maggie can talk about going on a supply run for gardening supplies and umbrellas to provide shade to their outdoor kitchen is proof of that. They live in relative comfort now, something that would have been inconceivable a few months ago. 

He doesn’t get another chance to think about Daryl until later that evening, when he retires to bed after rocking Judith to sleep. Happily, the more he contemplates the next stage of his project the easier it seems. 

**Step 4: Test your hypothesis**  
• Design an experiment  
• Perform your experiment carefully  
• Record your data

Given that one of the basic tenets of experimentation is repeatable procedures, Rick comes to the conclusion that all he really needs to do is call Daryl sunshine again and see what happens. Almost as soon as he thinks it he sees Diana shaking her head at him. _Context_ , she reminds him gently. _Controlled variables_. He frowns. Not quite as simple as he’d thought then. Still, not impossible. He’ll just have to repeat the experiment several times and make detailed notes about the changes to the variables. There are four that spring immediately to mind. Ideally, Rick would enlist the help of some of the others to alter the person saying it, but he’d rather not have to explain to anyone what he is testing. As long as he starts small and stays patient, he should be able to figure this out on his own. 

The experiment begins the following morning. Daryl is already warming a couple of tins of beans on the stove when Rick arrives in the kitchen just after dawn. Not for the first time, Rick finds himself with a reason to be thankful that Daryl, like Rick, is a compulsively early riser. Whilst the presence of an audience might prove to be an important variable, Rick would rather not expose Daryl or himself to it until he absolutely has to. 

He has no intention of jumping in feet first, so when Daryl jerks his head in greeting Rick returns the gesture in his usual fashion. 

“Get some rice on?” Daryl asks gruffly. 

“Sure,” Rick replies, walking over and fishing out a large saucepan from the cupboard. 

It is an unspoken rule that whoever wakes first is in charge of preparing breakfast for everyone. They had been fortunate to stumble upon a small group of well-stocked houses a few weeks ago. One of them seemed to have belonged to an Indian family, judging by the copious amounts of rice and spices they had in their kitchen. Glenn and Maggie have made a couple of trips out there now, and they still haven’t brought back everything. They have consigned most of the imperishable items to their winter stores, but there is enough to treat themselves to a warm breakfast once a week. 

For the most part, they work in companionable silence. At one point, Daryl hands Rick the salt just as Rick is opening his mouth to ask for it. It gives Rick a warm feeling in his chest that, even when there are no lives at stake, he and Daryl are so in tune. He marks it as something to note in his write up of this particular experiment. 

The dining room is almost full by the time breakfast is ready. Clearly everyone else was having as much trouble sleeping in the heat as Rick was. Rick eats with Judith, Carl and Patrick whilst Daryl takes a place on the stairs with Carol. They exchange nods of satisfaction as everyone tucks into the hearty meal. Carl and Patrick volunteer for clean up duty, which gives Rick an extra half an hour with Judith before he heads out into the garden. It also gives him time to say goodbye to Daryl before he, Glenn and Maggie head out on another run. 

Carol has already left to begin her tasks for the day, so Daryl is alone when Rick approaches. 

“Make sure you take plenty of water with you, just in case you don’t find any,” Rick says, though he knows Daryl is too smart to forget a thing like that. 

Daryl is gracious enough to nod once, like Rick has just imparted some sage advice and not stated the fucking obvious. 

“Oh and Dare,” Rick continues, not wanting to put too much emphasis on the word but not wanting Daryl to miss it either, “take care out there.”

Daryl’s reaction is not as violent as it was the first time, but there is a definite reaction. Two spots of pink appear high on his cheeks, and he offers Rick a small smile. “Always do,” he replies quietly. 

“Good,” Rick replies, squeezing Daryl’s shoulder lightly. 

He can feel Daryl’s eyes on his back as he walks away. He makes sure he is well and truly out of sight before allowing himself a pleased smile.


	5. Chapter Five

_Evening – in parting – man_  
The dining area is full of people laughing and joking as they wait for dinner. Rick sits back in his chair and soaks up the sounds of survival, of people who know they won’t be going to bed on an empty stomach tonight. 

“Been a good day,” Daryl says, dropping into the seat next to Rick. 

Rick nods. He doesn’t trust himself to give a verbal response that isn’t pessimistic wondering how long their luck will hold. Daryl gets it though. 

“Been a good few days,” he amends, shifting his chair so that his elbow bumps against Rick’s when he rests it on the table. “It’s good here.”

He doesn’t say safe. Neither of them ever say _safe_. Because no matter how many fences the prison has and how many capable people are willing to defend it, Rick doesn’t think they will ever be 100 per cent safe again. There are still other people out there, people who would kill for what they have here. One day there will be no more supplies to scavenge, and they will have to make do with only what they have and what they can make. They will always have to hunt less than they need to ensure that the natural ecosystem endures, and hope that anyone else hunting in the area does the same. No. They are not safe. 

There are days – bad days – when he is gripped with the desire to go out and lay waste to anyone he comes across just to be on the safe side. It is a horrible thought, so horrible that he doesn’t even write it in his journal. And there are days, when he watches Daryl aim his crossbow at a rabbit only to lower it again a moment later with a muttered curse and a shake of his head, when he wonders if he isn’t the only one who has had such awful thoughts. Daryl is too good though, and Rick is trying to be, and so they do nothing. 

It is not until Daryl nudges him sharply that Rick realises he has drifted off from the conversation. He is making something of a habit of that lately. If he’s not careful, it won’t just be Carl worrying about him cracking again. 

“Something wrong?” Daryl asks, quietly, to avoid attracting the attention of anyone else at the table. 

Rick shakes his head. “Just drifted off for a bit.”

They’ve all done that on occasion, so thankfully Daryl accepts the explanation and repeats his comment about the storm clouds that have been gathering over to the west. 

Dinner consists of fish cakes made from some tinned tuna and a couple of packets of instant mash potatoes and what passes for salad these days – a couple of lettuce leaves and some frozen peas. As with nearly all of their meals, most of the components are past their best. Still, the novelty of tuna – even old tuna – is enough to have the prison’s occupants loudly voicing their enjoyment and appreciation. 

Daryl and Rick are joined at their end of the table by Jack and Simon, two of the most recent members of the group. Daryl and Tyreese had come across them on their way back from a pharmacy run a couple of weeks ago. The brothers had both been beaten pretty badly by another group they had been unfortunate enough to run into whilst searching for water. Since Hershel released them from their bed rest, they have been eager to prove their worth to Daryl and – once they realised how much Daryl looked to him – to Rick. He half-listens as they chatter away about a bear they had tracked once. They seem nice enough, but Rick was hoping to get in another experiment tonight, and he is struggling to come up with a way to do so that won’t seem odd to the new arrivals.

In the end, he has to wait until dinner is long over, and people are starting to turn in for the night. He waits until Simon has told them about a road trip he once took to Canada then pushes himself out of his chair. 

“That’s it for me, I think,” he says, arching his back and stretching his shoulders. He can’t remember the last time he spent this long sitting down. “Jack, Simon, it was nice talking to you.” He smiles brightly at them before turning to Daryl. “Night man,” he says casually. 

He regrets his choice as soon as the words are out of his mouth. True, man is unlikely to attract attention, but only because it is impersonal, and maybe even a little cold. Man is what you call the guy you’ve just met whose name you can’t be bothered remembering. Man is what Rick used to call people when he was trying to talk them down during a callout. Daryl is so much more than _man_. 

It is clear from his reaction that Daryl views the word the same way that Rick does. His eyes immediately close down. His mouth seals itself into a hard line. For a moment he looks like the Daryl Dixon Rick had first met only worse because in the split second it took for Daryl to throw his walls up, Rick had seen genuine hurt on his face. 

The urge to apologise is almost overwhelming. Knowing that any attempt to do so would probably only make things worse, Rick forces himself to walk away. He’ll make it up to Daryl tomorrow. 

_Early afternoon – with a question – bro_  
The clouds move in quickly, just as Daryl had predicted. They turn the sky black and the air hot and heavy. No one can say whether they are experiencing a hotter summer than usual or whether it just feels that way because they are enduring it without the modern comforts of air conditioning or electric fans. Sleep has become almost impossible. Rick spends most of his nights staring at the ceiling and peeling the cheap bed sheets off his heated skin whenever he makes the mistake of rolling over. He would feel a lot worse about the dark circles he is cultivating under his eyes were it not for the fact that everyone else looks just as rough. 

Lethargy seems to infect the prison. Every task seems to take twice as long and leave them twice as tired as it did before. Rick and Carl temporarily abandon the pigpen building to focus on the garden, ferrying buckets of water from the stream to make sure they don’t lose their precious plants. The stream has served them well so far, but if it doesn’t rain soon, there won’t be enough water to spare for the garden. Rick hopes it won’t come to that, not after how much work they’ve put into getting the garden producing vegetables. 

A shadow falls across Rick’s face. He jerks his head up from the bed he’d been weeding. It can’t be more than a minute since Carl left for the stream. He wouldn’t be back yet unless something had gone wrong. 

“The fuck are you still out here for?” Daryl asks, frowning down at Rick. “Give yourself fuckin’ heatstroke if ya ain’t careful.” 

Daryl’s mothering makes Rick grin as he shrugs it off. “Gotta eat,” he replies nonchalantly. “I am being careful,” he adds, pointing at the water he’d brought out with him. “And don’t think I don’t know that you went out again today despite Hershel telling you to take a day off two days ago.”

Daryl scuffs his foot in the dirt. “Gotta eat,” he replies wryly. 

Rick huffs out a laugh. “No rest for the wicked, right bro?”

It is not quite as bad as man, but it isn’t good either. Bro was always Shane’s word, used for both men and women for whom he felt varying degrees of affection. It feels wrong in Rick’s mouth. Judging from the puzzled look on Daryl’s face, it also sounds wrong coming out of it. Rick is the one who blushes this time, but at least he can blame it on the heat if Daryl calls him on it. 

“Sorry,” Rick says, shaking his head and shooting Daryl a rueful smile. “Looks like I’ve been spending too much time with Glenn.” 

He can’t help but think that it is a good thing that he never pursued science as a career, seeing as he is so obviously terrible at it. 

_Late afternoon – in thanks – dear_  
Rick is planting seeds when the rain arrives, sudden and torrential. The impact of it hitting his back makes him gasp. Within seconds, he is soaking wet, his shirt clinging to his skin. He lifts his head, blinking through the streams of water. They’d known the rain was coming, but he hadn’t expected it to fall so hard so quickly. It is as if the sky was one big water balloon, and someone has just stuck a pin in it. 

Slowly, he gets to his feet. His knees are a muddy mess. His hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks despairingly down at the hammering his plants are taking. Most of them are still young. They lack the strength to weather an onslaught such as this. Certainly the seeds will be washed away if it keeps on like this for much longer. Frustration wells up inside him. The little garden doesn’t produce much, but in the past few weeks they have all started to feel the benefit of having fresh vegetables in their diet once more. They _need_ these plants. And Rick can’t do a damn thing to save them. 

He takes his frustration out on a nearby stone, kicking at it as he drops his head into his hands. “Fuck,” he curses. 

“Rick!” 

He can just make out the sound of his name being called through the pouring of the rain and the thundering in his head. He puts a hand up to his eyes to keep the water out of them and glances around for the source. Daryl is standing in the cellblock doorway. 

“Get yer ass in here,” he yells. 

Rick obeys. Staying out in the rain won’t save his garden. And to think that only yesterday they’d looked up at the clouds and wished for rain. 

“Here,” Daryl says as Rick steps through the doorway and out of the rain. He holds out a towel. Not just any towel. Rick’s towel. Daryl must have realised Rick was out in the rain, gone to Rick’s cell to retrieve the towel and then come back to wait for him. 

The thoughtfulness of the gesture makes Rick smile despite the bitter disappointment swirling around in his stomach. “Thank you dear,” he says softly, taking the towel and beginning to dry his hands. 

And there it is. There’s the reaction he has been trying to provoke – the red cheeks, the twitch of the lip, the surprise in Daryl’s blue eyes. Just as Rick remembered it. 

“Weren’t nothin’,” Daryl grunts, turning around as Rick peels off his shirt. 

Rick grins at Daryl’s back. 

_After dinner – with a compliment – honey_  
They eat with Jack and Simon again. They both seem calmer today and a little less desperate to impress. Daryl is the one who initiates the conversation, asking them if they’ve ever hunted deer before launching into a story about the one he and Rick had bagged in the spring. Rick listens in silence, occasionally nodding and trying not to blush at the touch of pride in Daryl’s voice as he explains how Rick had tracked and eventually shot the buck. That had been the first time Rick had successfully put all of Daryl’s teaching into practice. He remembers the joyful disbelief he’d felt when the deer had fallen, remembers the feeling of Daryl’s hand squeezing his shoulder and the rare smile on his face. 

“I didn’t know you were a hunter too,” Jack remarks. “Your dad teach you?”

Rick laughs. “I think it’s a bit early to be calling myself a hunter,” he remarks lightly. “And it was Daryl who taught me. I’d have been lost if it weren’t for him.” 

Both Jack and Simon seem to realise – either from something in Rick’s voice or the way Daryl turns his head away – that Rick is not just talking about hunting. They quickly change the subject, asking Rick if there is anything they can do around the place now that they are both recovered. Others join them at the table, drawing Jack and Simon into separate discussions. Rick and Daryl finish their meals in companionable silence. 

“Yer better than ya think,” Daryl mutters suddenly. 

Surprised, Rick turns his head to find Daryl staring intently at the table in front of him. 

“Shouldn’t sell yerself short all the time,” Daryl adds, which frankly Rick thinks is a bit rich coming from _Daryl_. 

Rick can’t help but chuckle. Daryl’s head snaps up, and he glares at Rick. “What?” he demands defensively. 

“Nothing honey,” Rick replies, smiling fondly at the indignant man next to him. “Just…you might want to consider taking your own advice occasionally.” 

Daryl grumbles something that could be assent or complaint. He is blushing again.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs referenced in this chapter are Metallica's Enter Sandman and Peter Sarstedt's Where Do You Go To My Lovely.

The experiment becomes a kind of game, one that has Rick challenging himself to come up with creative ways to vary the conditions. He keeps it up even after illness strikes, sending over half of the prison to their beds with sore throats, headaches and nasty fevers. He feels guilty at first for concerning himself with something so trivial when there are lives at stake, but he soon comes to see it as a welcome distraction from a problem he can do little to solve. What is left of the garden after the previous week’s storm is left untended as he and Carl pick up the tasks that others are not well enough to complete. Carl takes Glenn’s shifts on watch without complaint. Rick releases Beth from looking after Judith so that she can help her father minister to the sick. 

Rick spends most of his days helping Carol in the kitchen and laundry with Judith strung across his chest. _Women’s work_ , he hears Shane sneer derisively. Rick doesn’t pay him any mind. He will do whatever it takes to get his people well again. 

At night, the cellblock echoes with coughs and splutters. They haven’t lost anyone yet, but in his heart, Rick knows it is only a matter of time. He moves Judith’s basket into his cell, terrified of letting her out of his sight lest she become ill in the night. Soon even putting her down feels like too much of a risk. Before he knows it, he has stayed awake for the best part of a week. The resulting exhaustion is easy to hide – those of them that are still up and about are _all_ exhausted from the extra work. It isn’t until he stumbles and nearly falls down the stairs one morning that anyone realises that he is once again pushing himself too hard. 

“I’ll take her tonight,” Daryl says, standing at the bottom of the stairs ready to catch either Rick or Judith or possibly both if Rick loses his footing again. 

His tone leaves no room for opposition. Rick hadn’t planned on offering any. Accepting help when it is offered is one lesson at least that he has managed to learn. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding gratefully at Daryl. 

The entire room seems to breathe a sigh of relief at Rick’s easy agreement. 

_Very early morning – accidentally, with Judith – lovely_  
Of course, letting Daryl take Judith so that Rick can sleep is no guarantee that he’ll actually be able to do so. He tosses and turns for a couple of hours before giving the whole thing up as a lost cause. His throat is starting to feel scratchy, and his head aches. Whether it is an illness or plain thirst and tiredness, Rick cannot say. Either way, he figures a glass of water will help. 

He resists the urge to check in on Judith and Daryl on the way. Turns out it would have been a wasted journey. Rick is only a couple of footsteps away from the entry to the dining room when he hears the unmistakable sound of his daughter fussing and whining. She’s not coughing though, so he pushes down the urge to rush in to make sure she is okay. Daryl will take care of her. 

As if on cue, the sound of someone singing softly drifts out of the room. Rick pauses for a moment to listen, a grin stealing across his face as he recognises the melody. Only Daryl would think _Enter Sandman_ was an appropriate lullaby for a baby girl. It is tempting to stand there and listen all night, but Rick is well aware that he is intruding on a private moment. 

“Hey,” Rick murmurs, stepping into the room. 

Daryl turns around. Judith is cradled in his arms, asleep at last. He looks so at ease for someone Rick had assumed had never spent much time around children. Perhaps he was wrong about that? Perhaps Merle…or even Daryl himself…?

All of the things he still doesn’t know about Daryl hit him in one big rush, along with a fragment of a song his mother used to play every weekend on their old record player. 

_Where do you go to my lovely?_  
 _When you’re alone in your bed_  
 _Tell me the thoughts that surround you_  
 _I want to look inside your head, yes I do_

He doesn’t realise he’s sung the words out loud until Daryl clears his throat softly. “You oughtta hold her if yer gonna sing to her,” he says. 

Rick elects not to tell Daryl that he hadn’t been singing to Judith. It feels like crossing a line somehow.

*

Rick has just settled on his bed to spend the afternoon with Hemingway when Hershel knocks on the bars of his cell. He looks sober and tired as he leans against the wall, the right side of his body hidden from Rick’s view. He has probably had the least sleep of all of them this past week. If he has taken time out of tending to the ill to speak to Rick then whatever he has to say must be important. Rick slips his bookmark into the book and sets it down, giving Hershel his full attention.

“Daryl’s going on an another run,” Hershel says, frowning disapprovingly. “Alone.”

“He told me,” Rick sighs. 

“It’s too risky,” Hershel protests. “Even when we’re all well no one goes on a run alone, and with everyone as sleep deprived as they are – even Daryl – it is even more dangerous than usual.”

“I know,” Rick says quietly, “but we need those supplies. We can’t spare anyone else to go with him. I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“You could go with him.”

“And give him one more thing to worry about? No chance. I’d be a hindrance, not a help.”

“Not if you took your gun.”

Hershel’s words are tentative, but he meets Rick’s incredulous look with a firm gaze. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Rick states flatly. “You’re the one who told me to give it up in the first place. Why change your mind now?”

“Because you’ve proven that you can,” Hershel responds. “You came back from that dark place. You’ve started Carl back on the right path. Giving it up was the right thing at the time. But we – _I_ – have to be realistic here. You’re too capable, too good in a crisis, to stay locked up in here for the rest of your days. Carl too, much as it pains me to admit it. I’m not suggesting you go back to the way you were, just that maybe you need to find some…balance.”

Rick hesitates for a moment. 

“I wouldn’t ask it of you if I didn’t think you could do it,” Hershel says kindly. He steps into the cell, and for the first time Rick can see what he is holding in his right hand. It’s Rick’s gun, newly dug up and cleaned. By someone who knew what they were doing, going by how good it looks. Rick couldn’t have done it better himself. 

“You’ve already spoken to Daryl,” Rick remarks, rather more accusingly than he had intended. 

Again Hershel does not flinch. “We are in agreement. He’s waiting for you at the gate. He won’t go with anyone else. We need you out there.”

Part of Rick wants to protest, to beg Hershel not to make him go. There’s another part of him that yearns for the chance to prove – to himself as much as anyone else – that he _is_ strong enough for this. That he can be one of them once more, dealing in violence when necessary but never letting it consume him. That he can find his balance. 

“I need to speak to Carl first.”

*

A twig snaps somewhere to Rick’s left. Both men freeze. Peering through the thick branches of the trees that frame the clearing, Rick makes out the hulking forms of a small group of walkers, maybe ten in total. He shoots a questioning glance at Daryl, who furrows his brows for a moment before nodding once. Neither of them makes a habit of killing walkers just because they are there, Rick especially not now that he is trying to set a better example for Carl. But the herd is heading straight for the traps they came out to check. Unless they take action, anything they might have caught will be lost to them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rick sees Daryl fit a bolt to his crossbow and get ready to fire. Rick readies himself. It has only been a few days since Rick began joining Daryl again, but they have fallen straight back into working together as if they’ve known each other a lifetime. Daryl gives the signal and Rick coughs. The herd turns their attention to him, shuffling through the trees and into the clearing. Daryl fires swiftly to put bolts through the brains of two of them, leaving the one in front for Rick to handle. 

It soon becomes apparent that they had underestimated the size of the herd, as more and more walkers come pouring out of the trees. Sweat gathers on Rick’s forehead as he ducks and weaves his way among them, jamming his crowbar through eye socket after eye socket. Behind him, he hears Daryl panting with exertion as he too dispatches a series of walkers in quick succession. He takes a few steps back to avoid tripping over the bodies that are beginning to pile up around him. A walker lunges at him from the right, catching him off guard. He loses his footing in his haste to get away, tumbling backwards. His hands scrabble in the dirt for purchase as he rolls down the hill, only coming to a stop when he hits a large, sharp rock. 

He lays there for a long moment, blinking up into the sun and waiting for his heart to stop hammering in his chest. When the shock of the fall has worn off, he gets to his feet with a grunt of pain. His arms and face are scratched pretty badly, and there is blood trickling from a gash on his left forearm, but other than that he is fine. He is more embarrassed than hurt. He rips a strip off his shirt and wraps it over the cut before looking around for the easiest way back up the hill. 

It doesn’t occur to him to worry about Daryl until he gets back to the clearing only to find that Daryl isn’t in it. All of the walkers that Rick can see are well and truly dead, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Daryl is safe. He stands still and strains his ears for an indication of Daryl’s whereabouts. The time they’ve spent hunting together has attuned Rick’s ear to the zing of a crossbow being fired, but the air around him now is almost eerily silent. 

They have never discussed a plan for if they became separated on one of their trips, relying instead on not getting separated in the first place. Rick figures that waiting in the last place they had seen each other was a sound option. 

Thankfully, he is not waiting long. 

He ducks behind a tree when he hears footsteps approaching. They might be moving too fast to be a walker’s but that is no guarantee that they definitely belong to Daryl. He grips his crowbar in his least-injured hand. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of a relatively unscathed Daryl stepping into the clearing. He moves without thinking about it, striding forward and throwing his arms around the younger man. 

This is not what they do. They have been in far more life threatening situations than this before, and Rick has never felt the need to hug it out afterwards. That is probably a good thing, given how uncomfortable Daryl seems in Rick’s arms. At every point where they are in contact, Rick can feel the tension in Daryl’s muscles. It is like hugging a tightly wound spring that could come loose at any moment. Rick pretends not to notice, waits another couple of seconds so that it doesn’t seem like he too is panicking and gives Daryl a friendly slap on the back before stepping away. 

“You hit your head or somethin’?” Daryl asks, eyeing Rick suspiciously. 

“Just glad you’re okay,” Rick replies. 

Daryl snorts. “I ain’t the one who fell down a damn hill.” He smirks at Rick, who blushes. “Seriously though, are you hurt? Need to go back?” 

Rick shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he states firmly. “A little battered, but fine.”

Daryl studies him intently for a moment, his gaze lingering first on Rick’s injured hand and then on the patch of exposed skin where he had torn his shirt. Once he is satisfied that Rick isn’t just putting on a brave face, he nods. “C’mon then. Them traps ain’t gonna empty themselves.”

“Lead on, sweetheart,” Rick says jovially. 

The red that stains Daryl’s cheeks – the darkest yet – makes Rick instantly forget about the pain in his hand.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Step 5: Analyse your data**  
• Make a chart or graph  
• Compare your data to others  
• See if your data fits your hypothesis

Every night, no matter how busy his day has been, Rick forces himself to get his notebook out and write up the day’s experiment. If he hasn’t managed to fit an experiment in, then he analyses the observations he has made so far, looking for trends and trying to decide whether a bar graph or pie chart would be better for summarising the information. It is like being back at school again. Except that Rick never put this much effort into his homework. 

Sasha and Tyreese return from a run one day with crayons for the younger kids. The next evening, Rick sneaks into the library and spends half an hour trying to decide which shade of red most closely resembled Daryl’s blushing skin. It becomes quite addictive. Pretty soon his notebook is littered with graphs depicting the intensity of Daryl’s blush against the time of day or the type of nickname. ‘Sweetheart’ is the clear winner at the moment, with ‘bro’ and ‘man’ still the least successful of his attempts. 

He can’t compare his data with others without letting them know what he is doing. He can, however, observe the differences between the way Daryl responds to other people and the way he responds to Rick. Each person gets a graph recording how violently he or she can get Daryl to blush. Carol does pretty well, which isn’t all that surprising. Rick’s willing to bet that Daryl has never known anything like Carol’s gentle teasing. Hershel is also pretty high on the list. Clearly his opinion means as much to Daryl as it does to Rick. Judith too, though that seems to be more a result of Rick catching Daryl interacting with Judith than Judith herself. 

The more data Rick gathers, the more it seems as though his hypothesis may indeed be correct. Daryl doesn’t blush for anyone else the way he blushes for Rick. The evidence seems conclusive. And yet Rick finds himself strangely reluctant to end the experiment. It’s fun. There aren’t many things Rick can say that about these days. 

It stops being fun the day he hugs Daryl in the woods. 

Despite being a mischievous child, Rick has always had a strong sense of where to draw the line. He and Diana teased each other mercilessly, but they seldom said anything truly insulting or offensive. On the rare occasions that they did, they were quick to apologise and move on. He often stayed up late listening to music or watching TV, but he never tried to use the resulting tiredness to get out of going to school or completing his chores for the day. He occasionally smoked at Shane’s house and partook of the beer Shane was fond of stealing from his overbearing father, but he never lied to his parents about where he was going. There were some who thought him a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but to Rick it was an efficient system. He got to have his share of fun, and no one got hurt in the process. 

At least, that was always the plan. But it has become clear to him that he _is_ hurting Daryl. Or offending him or embarrassing him or annoying him or something equally unpleasant. 

Not that Daryl has explicitly communicated this to Rick. In fact, to most people it would seem as though their relationship is stronger than ever. They don’t see the war waging inside Daryl every time he looks at Rick, a war that is waged in minute flickers of blue eyes. Rick only spotted it himself the evening they returned to the prison after their run-in with the herd. He had put Daryl’s silence on the walk back down to the impact of the effort they had expended. Daryl’s stamina might be better than most, but even he isn’t immune to exhaustion. And Daryl had sat next to him at dinner, had conversed with him as usual and laughed when Judith rubbed her sticky hands over Rick’s cheeks. It was only his eyes that had given him away. There was wariness in them, a distance there that hadn’t been present before. 

Clearly Rick’s harmless little game isn’t so harmless after all. It will end immediately. He would have ended it sooner if he’d only realised the impact it was having on Daryl. What he can’t understand is how he missed it, given how closely he has been observing Daryl recently. He lies awake half the night trying to find an explanation. It occupies his thoughts all through the following day and well into his shift on the midnight watch. 

The only explanation he can come up with is that he hadn’t seen it before because it hadn’t _been_ there before. There must have been something about the previous day that brought it to the surface. The hug, perhaps? Or the nickname? Rick often calls Judith sweetheart, so perhaps Daryl felt he was being patronised? Maybe it isn’t about Rick at all? Maybe he is overestimating the effect he has on the other man? Perhaps Daryl was simply in a bad mood, and the only reason it seemed like it was directed at Rick was because Rick kept looking at him? 

The creaking sound of the trapdoor opening pulls Rick out of his musings and back to the present. He turns around just as Daryl’s face appears at the top of the ladder. Daryl is carefully balancing two steaming mugs in one hand. He sets them both down on the floor in order to clamber up into the small room. 

“Brought you some coffee,” Daryl says gruffly, clearly embarrassed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. 

“Thank you,” Rick says appreciatively, taking the mug that Daryl thrusts in his direction. 

“What’s it like out there?”

“Quiet. I haven’t seen a single walker since I came up here.” 

Daryl hovers awkwardly near the door, his hands wrapped around his mug and his eyes fixed on Rick. An unusually heavy silence hovers in the air between them. Rick knows that it is highly unlikely that Daryl’s sole purpose for coming out was to bring Rick a drink when he could be resting in his cell. As curious as he is, he has learned from experience that Daryl needs to come to things in his own time, on his own terms. He sips his coffee and waits. 

“I ain’t no good at this,” Daryl says eventually. 

“Making coffee?” Rick teases, hoping that a joke will put Daryl at ease. He takes a drink and then shrugs. “Tastes okay to me.”

Daryl rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. “Talkin’,” he clarifies. 

“Well, I don’t quite have all night, but I’ve got the next four hours at least,” Rick says encouragingly. He leans back against the wall and turns his face to the window, wanting to give Daryl a moment to compose himself if that is what he needs. 

He hears Daryl move across the room to join him, keeping a safe distance between them as he takes up a position at the right side of the window. Together they gaze out over the prison yard. Rick steals the occasional glance at Daryl, noting with concern the restless tapping of his fingers on the side of his plastic mug and the tension that draws in his eyebrows. Daryl never looks comfortable exactly, but Rick doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other man look quite this _uncomfortable_ before. It puts Rick on edge. He has never dealt well with uncertainty. Whatever Daryl has to say, however awful it might be, he’d rather he just come out and say it so that they can start figuring out how to deal with it. _Patience_ , he reminds himself. 

It is nearly a full ten minutes before either of them speaks again. 

“Women ain’t ever interested me much,” Daryl says quietly. 

Rick frowns in confusion, unsure as to why Daryl felt the need to come all the way out to the guard tower to share that bit of information. He’s not entirely sure why Daryl would share it in the first place, regardless of location. Unless he is looking for advice on how to approach Carol? 

Daryl scuffs his feet against the floor and coughs. Why this should prompt Rick to realise exactly what Daryl was trying to say is anyone’s guess. The important thing is that the realisation smacks Rick between the eyes as surely as if Daryl had literally hurled it at him. 

Rick can’t help the surprised gasp that falls from his lips. Daryl has never been interested in women. Not: Daryl has never been interested in anyone. Daryl has never been interested in _women_. Which implies that…he has been interested in men? Rick’s brain stalls there for a moment. Daryl Dixon likes men. And Rick thought the dead coming back to life to feast on the living was mind blowing. 

Daryl lets out a shaky breath, studiously avoiding Rick’s gaze. It is all the confirmation that Rick needs. 

This is pretty much the last conversation Rick ever imagined the two of them having. No one had ever come out to Rick before, though he had his suspicions about one of the younger officers at the station. He has no idea what he is supposed to say, but the thought of saying nothing doesn’t sit right with him so he figures he’ll just have to take his chances and hope for the best. He knows what men are like around here. He knows how closely masculinity is tied to how many women you’ve slept with. He knows how men like Daryl get treated. He can well imagine what Merle had to say on the subject, and Merle’s words have always carried a baffling weight with Daryl. He can’t stand the thought of Daryl walking around thinking less of himself for something that is so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. 

“Hey,” he says tentatively, “I don’t know what people have said to you in the past, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with what you’ve just told me.”

Daryl scoffs at him. 

“I mean it,” Rick says emphatically. “I have never cared about shit like that, and I’m not about to start now,” he continues. He wants to add that he doesn’t think anyone else would have a problem with it either, but he suspects that the prospect of anyone else finding out would mortify Daryl. 

Daryl makes a noncommittal noise. Rather than looking relieved to have his secret out and accepted by Rick, he looks even worse than he did when he came in. 

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Rick says, trying again to reassure Daryl. He means it too. It is a hell of a thing for a guy like Daryl to confess. Even though Rick doesn’t understand why Daryl felt the need to confess it to him, it means more to him than he can say that Daryl trusts him enough to do so. 

“I ain’t done,” Daryl mutters. He still sounds small and thoroughly ashamed of himself. 

If he were talking to anyone else, Rick would reach out a comforting hand right about now. But Daryl has never seemed all that pleased about people touching him, and their awkward encounter in the woods the previous day is proof enough that that is still the case. Rick has the distinct impression that if he spooks Daryl now, they will never finish this conversation. He clenches his hands into fists and focuses on letting Daryl get things out at his own pace. 

“I think you oughta give me some space for a while,” Daryl says, so quietly that Rick has to strain his ears to make the words out. 

“Daryl, I’m fine with it,” Rick protests. “Honestly.”

Daryl shakes his head. “It ain’t about that.” He lets out a heavy sigh and glances warily at Rick out of the corner of his eye. “The way you been treatin’ me lately has me all mixed up,” he says miserably. “I know you don’t mean nothin’ more than friendship by it, but yer killin’ me with the smiles and the touching and the fuckin’ nicknames.” 

Rick almost staggers under the weight of what he is hearing. Daryl wants _him_. Brave, dependable, smart, selfless Daryl wants him, a man so messed up he had to give up his leadership to grow vegetables. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. 

“Don’t have ta say nothin’,” Daryl insists, already moving towards the trapdoor. “In fact I’d rather ya didn’t. Ain’t ever planned on saying anythin’ to ya, but if you’d held on a bit longer yesterday you’d have figured it out for yerself. Just thought I should warn ya so ya don’t make a mistake like that again.” He pulls open the hatch and steps down onto the ladder. 

Rick makes no attempt to convince him to stay.


	8. Chapter Eight

Rick summons all of the stubbornness he has and forces himself to think of nothing for the rest of his shift. Not Carl and Judith, not Lori, not the sick people suffering in their beds, not the nightmare that is the world he is living in now, and especially not Daryl. _Nothing_. He stands outside in the balmy night air, resting his arms on the railing and gazing up into space thinking of nothing. He clears his mind of every coherent thought. With an empty head, he greets Sasha with a smile when she arrives to relieve him. With an empty head, he bids a bleary-eyed Carl good morning as they pass each other on the stairs. With an empty head, he visits Beth and Judith on his way back to his cell. 

Only to be greeted by the sight of his blue notebook sticking out from underneath his pillow, waiting for Rick to record his observations for the day. All of the stubbornness in the world wouldn’t be enough to quell the hot ball of shame that instantly makes its presence felt in Rick’s stomach. The intensity of it makes him feel physically sick. He wants to grab the book and tear it into hundreds of pieces, so he never has to look at it again. How could he have done that to Daryl? True, he hadn’t meant to do it, but that doesn’t ease the guilt he feels. Destroying the book won’t undo the damage though, won’t take away the haunted look from Daryl’s eyes. He settles for throwing it carelessly under his bed before flopping down onto the thin mattress. He’s not foolish enough to imagine he’ll get any sleep, but his body is weary and needs the rest. 

The worst thing is knowing how bad Daryl must have been feeling for him to have decided to confront Rick about it. When it comes to problems that might affect the entire group, Daryl could never be accused of cowardice or wilful ignorance. He is usually one of the first to draw attention to potential problems and start looking for solutions. When it comes to problems that only affect _him_ , however, Daryl is much more the suffer-in-silence type. Either Daryl has been so miserable that he simply couldn’t ignore it any longer or he is worried that it might become a problem that impacts more than just him. Whatever the reason, to come to Rick and admit his feelings knowing that they could never be returned must have taken serious courage. 

What Rick can’t understand is how he had missed the signs. He never used to be so dense about this kind of thing. He had known back in high school that he was considered quite a catch, for example. When he was older, he became accustomed to politely turning down the women who flirted openly with him in bars and supermarkets. He had even known himself to be the object of an admiring male gaze once in a while when he was in Atlanta and men were a little less subtle. And yet it had never crossed his mind that Daryl might feel anything stronger than friendship towards him. 

He can at least feel reasonably proud of the way he had handled Daryl’s confession. Other men might not have been so understanding. Rick knows this. Shane might well have punched Daryl the moment he got an inkling of what Daryl was trying to say. He almost certainly would have if he had found out that _he_ was the object of Daryl’s affections. But Rick had remained calm. He hadn’t reacted with disgust. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t forced Daryl to have a conversation that he clearly wasn’t ready to have. There are dozens of alternative ways the evening could have played out, and most of them would have ended with him feeling a good deal worse than he does now. 

Over the next few hours, the sharp pang of shame mellows into something more like regret. True, he has hurt Daryl, but it was unintentional, and he has been given pretty clear instruction about how to remedy the hurt he has caused. He will keep his distance. He will acquiesce to any request Daryl makes of him. He will prove to Daryl how deeply he regrets his actions. They will get through this. There is no reason they cannot mend their relationship and move on. 

It is late afternoon when he finally drags himself out of his cell in search of water for his parched throat. The dining room is busier than it has been in weeks, as more and more people recover from their illness and rejoin the healthy. It does Rick’s heart good to see so many of them chatting and laughing away. Hershel has run himself ragged, and their medicine supplies are sorely depleted, but it has not been in vain. They did lose one man, an older gentleman from Woodbury whom Rick believes never fully recovered from seeing his wife torn apart by walkers shortly after the outbreak. He had been a skittish, easily frightened man, but kind and incredibly thankful to them for taking him in. They had all mourned his passing. Still, a loss of one given the circumstances feels perversely like a victory. 

He pours himself a glass of water and heads outside to get some fresh air. There are two figures in the garden, silhouetted by the afternoon sun. He frowns. He and Carl agreed not to do any gardening work on the days after Rick had the night watch. It’s definitely Carl though. The hat is a dead giveaway. He has to get closer before he can identify the other figure. When he does a warm smile steals across his face. 

They both look up as he approaches. The garden is Rick and Carl’s thing. Everybody knows that. They have long since stopped offering to help, knowing that Rick will just wave them away and insist that he and Carl can manage just fine. Patrick looks decidedly uncomfortable at being caught. He glances anxiously at Carl, who squares his shoulders and fixes with Rick with a steady gaze. 

“You boys been out here all day?”

“Just since lunch,” Carl replies. “We were trying to get Patrick’s kite to fly when I noticed that some of the green beans were ready. Didn’t want them to go to waste.” Sure enough, there are two buckets of freshly harvested beans sitting at their feet. 

“We just wanted to help, sir,” Patrick adds, wringing his hands together. 

“I showed Patrick what to do,” Carl adds, “just like you taught me.” 

Rick nods. Any hurt he might have felt at seeing Carl sharing _their_ garden with someone else disappears in the face of his son’s pride. “You did good. Thank you.”

Patrick’s shoulders slump in relief, and he gives Rick a small smile. Rick returns it. The little garden might have been his way back to his son, but it couldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands around going forward. 

“Why don’t you take those to Carol and wash up before dinner,” Rick suggests. He claps a hand down on each boy’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Tomorrow we’ve got a pigpen to finish.”

*

The next two weeks are the strangest Rick has experienced in a while. He gives Daryl as much space as he can while still keeping the prison running smoothly. Daryl knows better than to avoid Rick entirely. That would very quickly arouse the suspicions of the others. So they continue to exchange pleasantries every morning, but cease keeping each other company on long night watches. They still go out hunting together, but they confine their conversations to discussions of supply levels and walker sightings. Daryl doesn’t seek Rick out unless he has a clear reason to do so. Rick doesn’t seek Daryl out at all.

At first Rick finds the change to his usual routine to be an unexpectedly pleasant one. He has plenty of work in the garden to occupy him during the day. In the evenings, he dedicates his time to getting to know some of the newer members of their community and spending time with Judith and Carl. Time with his children is always precious to him, and it has been nice for the newcomers to get to know him as more than just the guy who lost his wife and went crazy for a while. 

Halfway through the second week, he finds himself beginning to miss Daryl’s support. He had not realized just how much time they had been spending together, or how much he had come to enjoy Daryl’s quiet friendship. Neither of them is the kind of man to use twenty words when five will do. They could easily pass an entire afternoon together with barely a handful of sentences’ worth of conversation exchanged between them. Much to Rick’s delight, Daryl has a droll, dark sense of humor that has more than once result in Rick doubling up with laughter. In return, Daryl offers wry smiles and the occasional bark of laughter in response to Rick’s comments. It is easy in a way that few other things are these days. Or, it _was_ easy. Now it is civil and concise and straight-to-the-point and fucking _awful_. 

The less Rick speaks to Daryl, the more he finds himself watching him. The more he watches him, the more he misses him. He misses Daryl’s smile. Not the fleeting, guarded little thing he sometimes offers up, but his real smile. The one Rick has only ever seen Daryl bestow on Judith when he thinks no one else can see him. He misses the solid warmth of Daryl’s shoulder pressed against his at the dinner table. He misses the low rumble of Daryl’s voice as they traded ideas about the best spot to hit up on their next hunting trip. He even misses Daryl’s smell, all smoke and musk and physical exertion and a slight hint of coconut from the soap they’d recently acquired from a nearby supermarket. 

He just misses him period. Far more than he had anticipated. Unfortunately, he can’t do much about that without putting _his_ feelings ahead of Daryl’s. 

The most infuriating thing about the whole situation is how well Daryl seems to be handling it. He doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered about not being around Rick as much. If anything, he seems happier. It doesn’t make sense. If Rick is suffering this much when his feelings are only of friendship then surely Daryl must be feeling just as wretched if not more so?

At least Daryl has the decency not to impose the same distance restrictions on Carl and Judith. Rick’s not sure he could handle having to explain to Carl that Daryl doesn’t want to be friends with them anymore, and it’s all his fault. But Daryl sits with Carl and Patrick at dinner that night, much to their delight. Carl holds court, talking animatedly while Daryl nods attentively and adds a remark here and there. Patrick stares at Daryl like he can’t believe Daryl thinks they’re worthy of his time. Clearly increased exposure to the older man has done nothing to lessen Patrick’s awe. 

Rick looks up and finds that Carol is also watching them. He catches her eye, and they exchange a smile. As far as role models for teenage boys go, you could do worse than Daryl Dixon. He leaves them be for the rest of the evening. Carl wouldn’t appreciate feeling as though he is been checked up on, and Daryl is bound to catch Rick staring sooner or later. 

Despite Rick’s best intentions, their paths can’t help but cross sometimes. The prison complex is large, but it still only safe for them to occupy a relatively small portion of it. Daryl moved into the cell next to Rick’s when the Woodbury people arrived, and it was no longer practical for him to sleep on the landing. Some of the best conversations they’ve had have occurred spontaneously as one was leaving their cell as the other was entering theirs. 

Rick is carrying a half-asleep Judith back to her basket to give Beth the night off. Daryl is carrying a towel, clearly on the way to the showers. Rick’s first instinct is to duck into his cell without acknowledging Daryl at all. That seems like a step too far though, so he pauses and waits to see what Daryl will do. Daryl stares at him for a long moment, meeting his eyes for the first time in what feels like months. Rick concentrates on keeping any and all traces of pity out of his gaze. The gratitude he sees in Daryl’s eyes sharpens his determination. He can fix this. He _will_ fix this. He drops his head in a slow, deliberate nod, trying to communicate understanding and respect and I-won’t-push-anything without actually saying the words. 

Daryl returns the gesture almost immediately. 

Yeah. They’re going to be okay.


	9. Chapter Nine

It is late in the evening, so late that it may, in fact, be early morning. Half a dozen camping lanterns bathe the prison’s makeshift lounge in a warm glow. Rick had thought Glenn and Tyreese had lost their minds when they returned from a run a couple of months ago with a battered old couch on the back of their truck. This belief only intensified when they announced their plans to create a den in one of the at-the-time unused large open rooms near the dining room. Now it is established, he has to admit he is grateful for their imagination and determination. It is nice to have a place they can put their feet up and relax together. Especially after days like today. 

The temperature has finally dropped, allowing them to put in a full day’s work for the first time in weeks. A team led by Glenn and Daryl managed to clear the outer field of the small herd of walkers that moved in while everyone was distracted by illness. Carl, Patrick and Rick finished off the pigpen and carefully herded Violet into her new home. Michonne and Maggie returned from a run with, amongst other things, some much-needed bags of fertilizer and stakes for the garden. They had all been exhausted when the sun went down, and they headed in for showers and a feast of spiced vegetables and rice. 

Once the dishes were cleared, they all moved to the lounge. There is a satisfied, contented feeling in the air, one that no one seems willing to miss out on by retiring to bed. They have a total of four couches now, as well as a couple of armchairs and some beanbags for the kids. Michonne even managed to find a couple of board games and a pack of cards for entertainment. It isn’t luxurious by any sense of the word, but it is more than any of them dared hope to have again. 

There are no games tonight, just one big conversation. The game of I Never that someone started half an hour ago quickly morphed into a game of I Always Wanted To. It has so far proven quite illuminating. 

“Spend the whole day in bed watching cartoons and eating a frankly heroic quantity of pepperoni pizza,” Glenn responds, to the disgust of his wife. 

Rick bounces Judith on his knee, much to her delight. She has more energy right now than the rest of the room put together. Carl sits cross-legged at Rick’s feet, his back resting against the arm of the couch. Every few minutes, Rick drops his hand down to run through Carl’s hair. Carl must be extremely tired because he hasn’t complained once. 

“Walk through Paris in the rain, in a long grey coat and red beret, holding an almond croissant in one hand and an umbrella in the other,” Maggie sighs wistfully. 

Beth and Carol hum their approval. Carl has been fighting to keep his eyes open for the past half an hour, but he manages to do so now in order to roll them at Maggie. 

“Boring,” he teases, drawing knowing laughter from the adults. Judith attempts to join in, rocking back and forward and gurgling happily. Rick turns her around to face the centre of the room, letting her rest her back on his chest. 

“Go on then,” Beth urges, “tell us what you’ve always wanted to do.” 

“Bungee jump,” Carl replies eagerly. “There was a place in New Zealand where you could do it over a lake. I read about it in one of the magazines in the library. It looked awesome.”

Rick swallows down a laugh. Carl has always been terrified of heights. It is difficult to imagine him making it halfway up a bungee tower, never mind jumping from the top of one. 

“Successfully flip a pancake,” Sasha suggests, lifting her head from where it had been resting on Bob’s shoulder. 

“Yes!” Tyreese exclaims. 

“Every Sunday I’d make pancakes and every Sunday I’d end up with more pancakes on the floor than on the plate,” Sasha explains with a rueful grin. 

“At least you could get yours out of the pan,” says Bob sympathetically. “Mine always, _always_ stuck.” 

Carl tries and fails to stifle a yawn. Rick leans down to encourage Carl and Patrick to head off to bed. He is prevented from doing so by Judith, who lets out a series of excited squeaks and squirms violently in his lap. When he looks up, the source of her outburst is immediately clear. Daryl has just entered the room after his shift on watch. He nods once to assure Rick that everything is fine before glancing around the room in search of a seat. The only free space is the one next to Rick, recently vacated by Michonne when she left to relieve Daryl in the guard tower. Daryl hesitates. Rick’s stomach lurches. For a moment, he thinks that Daryl is going to opt to remain standing rather than join them. Then Judith waves her chubby arms in Daryl’s direction, and he relents, walking over and lowering himself onto the couch with a cautiousness that would be comical if it weren’t so sad. 

“Hey,” Rick murmurs. The conversation is still going strong around them, but that doesn’t mean it would go unnoticed if they sat beside each other for the rest of the night without exchanging a single word. 

“Hey,” Daryl replies, wiggling his fingers at Judith. She furrows her eyebrows in concentration as she attempts to grab them. Rick lifts her up and sets her between them. 

“I always wanted to run a marathon,” Carol offers. 

“Good one,” Hershel remarks approvingly. “I’d say…become fluent in another language.” 

“Sing in public,” Beth admits. “Properly, I mean. On a stage. I had chances, but I never found the courage.”

“Throw the first pitch at a major league ballgame,” Rick says quickly, before the atmosphere turns too regretful. It is a sign of how much they have all come to accept their current situation that they can tolerate a discussion revolving around dreams that most of them will never fulfil in the first place. 

“Camp on a beach.” 

“Drive across the country in a restored Cadillac.” 

Rick and Daryl take it turns playing with Judith. Rick begins to relax again, his body sinking into the well-worn cushions. At some point, his shoulder comes to rest against Daryl’s. He can feel the warmth emanating from it, creeping along Rick’s skin and into his very bones. 

“I always wanted to learn to ride a motorbike,” Patrick says quietly. Several people blink at him in surprise, both at him having volunteered an answer at all and the answer itself. He flushes under the scrutiny but manages to stammer out an explanation. “My grandfather used to ride. He always said he’d teach me some day.”

Rick turns to Daryl and quirks an eyebrow. Daryl ducks his head and clears his throat. 

“We’ll talk when you’re a bit older,” he promises. 

Patrick’s head jolts up. He looks over at Daryl, wide-eyed, and beams. Rick doesn’t think he could have looked any happier if Daryl had suggested they go outside and make a start right now. Daryl looks nervous, clearly expecting the protests to start any second. He flatly refuses to look anywhere near the couch Carol and Hershel are sharing. If anyone has any objections to make, they keep them to themselves for now, not wanting to begrudge Patrick the prospect, however distant, of honouring his grandfather’s memory. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick can see the beginnings of his favourite smile on Daryl’s face. He can’t help responding with a smile of his own. 

Judith wobbles slightly. When Rick leans forward to steady her, his eyes meet Daryl’s. He is relieved that doing so doesn’t chase the fledgling smile from Daryl’s face. In that moment, something inside of him shifts, something that requires careful consideration in the privacy of his cell. For now, he is content to watch his daughter squirm and giggle as Daryl’s fingers run up and down her side.

*

Rick has never been one for self-deception. He is acutely aware of his shortcomings and his strengths. He tries to be honest with himself. He has never chosen blissful ignorance over painful truth. He would rather face a week of sleepless nights turning a problem over in his head than simply turn a blind eye and pretend the problem didn’t exist. The possibility that he might be attracted to Daryl takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to acknowledge it as a possibility.

It is not easy to work out exactly how he feels though, given that relationships these days are at once much simpler and more complicated than they were before. Rick cares deeply for everyone who now calls the prison home, regardless of how long they have done so. They have all labored and sacrificed and suffered to create the sanctuary they have here. They’re his people, and he will do whatever it takes to protect them. That bit is relatively straightforward. Things are a little more complex when it comes to those that have been together since the Greene farm. Rick has come to rely on these people more than he has allowed himself to rely on anyone for a long time. They’re his _family_. Hershel is like a father to them all. Beth and Carol are raising Judith just as much as Rick if not more. Glenn and Maggie both feel like cousins. He doesn’t care how strange that is. If you had asked Rick a week ago to put a label on Daryl’s place in their little family, he would have said they were brothers. 

Only that doesn’t seem appropriate now, not when the memory of a freshly showered Daryl passing Rick in the corridor this morning makes his skin prickle and heat pleasantly. Rick hadn’t thought much of it at the time, and he’d been far too busy out in the garden to dwell on it during the day. The moment he lay down in his bed, however, the image came rushing back to him. His body reacted to it instantly. It has been so long since he felt anything even resembling arousal that at first he just lies there, letting the sensation roll around inside him without feeling any real need to do anything about it. It is something of a relief to learn that he hasn’t strayed so far from his humanity that he can’t still _feel_. 

Rick is not blind. He has no difficulty acknowledging that Daryl is attractive. He is built like the kind of men who used to appear on the front of the trashy romance novels Lori had been inexplicably fond of. But there is a delicacy to his face that is easy to miss from a distance. His eyes are some of the most expressive Rick has ever known, intimidating in their intensity sometimes. But in a different situation it is easy to picture them sliding appreciatively over a lover. It is also easy to imagine Daryl’s slow Southern drawl murmuring teasing words against soft skin. What fascinates Rick the most is that he knows Daryl is not a confident man, that he would never consider himself a candidate for admiration or desire. And yet nearly everything about him exudes the kind of sex appeal that some men spend their lives trying to achieve. 

Rick throws the blanket off his heated skin with a frustrated groan. The ache between his thighs is becoming more insistent now, but he is reluctant to reach down and find the release he craves when he doesn’t fully understand what it means. He is enlightened enough to know that there is a difference between stating that someone is attractive and personally being attracted to them. What he doesn’t know is how to tell the difference. 

He lies there for ten long minutes before deciding to take action. As quietly as he can, he slides off his bed and onto his knees. There is a small, battery-powered torch sitting on the upturned milk crate that serves as his bedside table. Rick picks it up and shines it under the bed before thrusting one arm out to retrieve his recently neglected notebook. He climbs back up onto his bed, takes a deep breath, opens the book, and begins to read.


	10. Chapter Ten

When Rick wakes the following morning, he finds himself sprawled haphazardly across his narrow bunk with his blanket tangled around his ankles and his notebook lying open on his stomach. His hand is still clutching his torch despite the batteries having long since gone flat. He does not remember falling asleep or much of what he read before doing so. Bleary-eyed, he stares up at the ceiling. His head is pounding. Eventually, he sits up with a groan and pinches the bridge of his nose in an unsuccessful attempt to find some relief. 

From what little he can recall, his notes had not been particularly useful. After all, he had a different problem in mind when he recorded the observations. It simply hadn’t occurred to him to record his responses to the situation as well as Daryl’s. He had noticed some interesting patterns though. For example, there were four separate occasions on which he had not planned on conducting an experiment at all. Four times when endearments fell spontaneously from Rick’s lips in response to something Daryl said or did. No one else makes him do things like that. He feels the same things – gratitude, respect, admiration – for the others as he does for Daryl, so why limit his verbal displays of affection to one man? It doesn’t make any sense. 

There is only one thing for it. If the notes he has are insufficient, he’ll just have to make new ones. 

He crawls out of bed and pulls a thin black t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans from his meagre pile of clothes. Quietly, he slips out of his cell and makes for the library’s stationery cupboard. He opts for a smaller notebook this time, and a stubby pencil that looks like it had once belonged in someone’s golf bag. They both fit easily into his back pocket. Satisfied, he makes a note on the inventory sheet Carol had drawn up and heads back to the dining room. He is only a few minutes later than his normal breakfast time, certainly not late enough for anyone to wonder what he had been doing. That doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty when his eyes briefly meet Daryl’s. A faint blush stains Rick’s cheeks. He turns away so Daryl can’t see it, struck by the sudden fear that Daryl’s keen perceptiveness might extend far enough for him to see in Rick’s face some indication of the direction his thoughts had taken last night. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on the question for long. As soon as he has finished eating, an already-breakfasted Carl and Patrick are at his elbow, ready to head outside and begin Patrick’s first, long overdue self-defence class. When Patrick had shown up to help Rick and Carl with the pigpen, his discomfort with any kind of tool was clear from the moment he tentatively picked up a hammer. He had admitted then that, with his father gone and his grandparents living in Ohio, there had been no one around to teach him how to swing a hammer or saw a piece of wood. At the time, they managed to find other ways for him to help, but Rick couldn’t help but worry about how Patrick would defend himself if the need ever arose. He consulted the counsel, and they all agreed. Patrick’s lack of experience was a risk they could not afford to take. 

He could hardly encourage Patrick to take up a weapon and continue keeping Carl from his. It wouldn’t be fair. More importantly, he didn’t particularly _want_ to. Rick has proven, to himself and hopefully to Carl too, that it _is_ possible to face the violence this world demands of you without letting it consume you. Now it’s Carl’s turn. And so Rick doesn’t just return Carl’s gun to him, he suggests that Carl be the one to teach Patrick, at least at first. Carl is visibly surprised at being given the responsibility, but the determination in his eyes confirms to Rick that the decision was the right one. 

The problem, Rick observes as he watches Carl and Patrick swing planks of wood like baseball bats at imaginary walkers, is one of experience. Or rather, lack of it. The truth is, he has no idea what it feels like to fall in love with someone. Lori was his first and only girlfriend, and he had loved her since the moment she opened the door and stepped into Mrs Bailey’s biology class. He still can’t explain what it was about her that caught his attention the way no other girl ever had. He had immediately resolved to do whatever it took to make her acquaintance as soon as possible. Luckily for him, she had ended up in the seat next to Suzy Masters, the girlfriend of one of Rick’s closest friends. By lunchtime, Lori and Suzy were well on their way to being firm friends, and Rick’s lunch group had increased by one very pretty girl. By the end of the month, Lori and Rick were the school’s new it couple. They bypassed friendship completely. They were nothing to each other, and then everything, in the blink of an eye. 

Happily, the more he got to know Lori the more justified he felt in his choice of future wife. She was bright and bubbly, clever, a diligent student and a kind and generous friend. She had a very natural kind of beauty. Most of the time, she went around in jeans and a t-shirt, same as Rick. She knew how to make the most of her looks when the occasion called for it though. There were plenty of times when Rick felt he was committing some gross offence simply by daring to breathe the same air as her. He loved her with everything he had. Like a stream that flowed along unchanged by small rocks and twigs it passed along its way, his love never wavered. It neither lessened nor grew over time. He’d always been proud of that, particularly as he watched other people’s marriages crumble around them. On reflection, that pride may have been somewhat misplaced. 

The boys have stopped moving now. Rick watches as they let their planks of wood fall to the ground before wiping the sweat from their brows. Carl looks over at him, and he gets to his feet. 

“Everything okay?” he asks as he joins them in the middle of the yard. 

“Yeah,” Carl replies. He looks pleased. Patrick looks uncomfortable but resolved. He hadn’t exactly been keen when Rick had put the proposal to him, but he had seen the wisdom of the idea. Rick offers him what he hopes is an encouraging smile. 

“I was just saying to Patrick that we should try sparring with each other next,” Carl explains. “To make it more realistic. I mean, walkers aren’t just going to stand there and wait to be hit. They’re going to come at us.”

Rick hesitates. Carl’s point is a valid one, but sparring would almost certainly be too much too soon for Patrick and Rick _needs_ him to do this. They all need him to do this. Rick doesn’t like it much, but Carl and Patrick are growing into fine, strong young men. Things have been relatively stable for them for a while now, but that doesn’t mean they will never be in danger again. The time may come when they will need both of them fit and healthy and fighting alongside Glenn and Maggie and Daryl and anyone else capable of lifting a weapon. They need to be ready. 

“Why don’t you try it slowly first? Like stuntmen in a movie?”

To Rick’s relief, both boys nod eagerly at the suggestion. 

“Yeah,” Carl replies. “We could do that.” 

Rick claps a hand on each of their shoulders and squeezes gently before retreating to his previous vantage point. 

Time is _supposed_ to change things. People mature, relationships deepen, hurts heal, bad moods are forgiven. When Rick looks around the dining room later that evening he is drawn to the faces of people whose existence had meant little to him during the first few days of their acquaintance. Glenn. Carol. Daryl. As a fellow survivor, he was pleased for them. He was grateful for the assistance they had provided to his wife and son. But they didn’t _matter_ the way Lori and Carl and Shane did. He would do what he could to help keep them safe, but he figured there wasn’t much point in trying to get to know them when they’d all be going their separate ways pretty soon. Except that that never happened, and he _did_ get to know them, and they were funny and brave and sweet and dependable. Their friendship blossomed as they fought and ran and slept and ate together. They grew together. 

That never happened with Lori. Even after they were married, Rick still looked at her and felt the same awe as he did the day they met. Lori still seemed like the same person she had been the day she waltzed into his life and stole his heart. Perhaps she was. Perhaps they both were. Perhaps that’s why they’d wound up with so many problems? Perhaps neither of them had changed at all since high school and so naturally they hadn’t been able to cope with the pressures of adult life? Perhaps Lori had changed, and Rick not only hadn’t changed too but hadn’t noticed that Lori had? Or even worse, perhaps he _had_ noticed but had simply refused to acknowledge it? He’s certainly stubborn enough for that. 

He never felt himself her equal. That was part of the problem, probably a bigger part than he’d care to admit. He always felt like an overeager puppy trailing after its master. He never felt worthy of her. Lori’s parents had always urged her to better herself, to be ambitious and competitive and go after what she wanted. Rick’s were more the as-long-as-you’re-happy-we’re-happy type. It never occurred to them that their different upbringings might be a problem until Carl came along, and the inevitable parenting discussions became parenting arguments. Lori urged him to work longer hours in the hopes that he would get promoted, and they could move to a bigger house and give Carl a younger brother or sister. Rick just wanted to get through his workday as quickly as possible so that he could spend time with his family. Neither of those desires was wrong, necessarily, they were just incompatible. Pretty soon parenting arguments became arguments about whether to have sausages or chicken for dinner or who was going to wash the car. They disagreed on things Rick had never imagined it worth disagreeing with anyone over. 

But he never stopped loving her. More than anything else that happened between them, the thing that Rick regrets most is that those few months before he had been shot had been the worst of all they had ever spent together. He would willingly lose her to Shane a thousand times over if he could just give her happy memories of that time instead of regrets. He kept telling himself that it was just a rough patch, one that all couples go through at some point. He believed that if they were patient, they would work things out eventually. The truth is, they allowed angry words and bitter silence to become their normal. He can’t imagine what it must have been like for Lori, looking at him in his hospital bed and wondering if her last words to her husband would be a sharp rebuke for having brought home the wrong flavour ice cream. Trying to prepare herself for life as a single mother, and then facing the possibility of doing so in the middle of a damn apocalypse. Allowing herself to find comfort in another only to discover that Rick had survived and found his way back to her. 

Again, Rick foolishly put his trust in time. They would sort things out once Shane was out of the way. They would sort things out once they found somewhere to stay. They would sort things out once they knew the prison was safe to inhabit. Even before Lori died, Rick knew in his heart that a complete reconciliation was impossible. There was too much that was broken between them. Lori would never forgive herself for what happened with Shane, so how could she expect Rick to? But they might have been able to become the friends they never were before. 

In contrast, his relationship with Daryl – whatever it turns out to be – has taken the more conventional route. They moved from civil indifference to reluctantly acknowledging each other’s merits to the first overtures of friendship and into something solid and familiar. Rick doesn’t look at Daryl and feel overcome with awe. He looks at him and feels supported, understood. For years, he struggled to find the words to communicate with Lori. With Daryl, all it takes is one look. Even Glenn and Maggie are not as instinctively in tune as Rick and Daryl. They are cut from the same cloth, as his grandmother would have said. 

The prospect of being with someone who can read him so well is certainly an enticing one. The question is, is it still enticing if he replaces an abstract someone with Daryl? 

His cock answers that question for him when he looks up and catches Daryl gazing intently at him. 

Yes.


	11. Chapter Eleven

It is Daryl’s eyes that undo Rick, in the end. He can tolerate the mild thrum of arousal that stirs within him at the sight of Daryl’s bare arms. He has learned to distract himself from images of a flushed and sweaty Daryl, glistening from physical exertion. He has mastered the art of refusing to acknowledge the way his stomach seems to turn in on itself at the mere hint of Daryl’s smile. But Daryl’s eyes are impossible to ignore. 

Rick lets out a frustrated groan as he rolls over to lie on his back, his arms and legs spread wide across the bed. Beneath the bed sheets, he is hard and throbbing and desperate for relief. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything about that, not when simply lying still is enough to make him perspire, but he knows his chances of falling asleep are slim to none until he does. He takes a deep breath, screws his eyes shut tightly and begins the slow mental countdown from one hundred that is usually sufficient to calm himself down. 

His body is having none of that tonight. His mind continues to torment him with images of Daryl, and his resolve begins to crumble. He opens his eyes at fifty-eight. He tells himself that no one will know, and that no one will be any worse off if he gives in. He wouldn’t be harming anyone. His poor, neglected cock would be a good deal better, in fact. 

Content with this rationalisation, he pulls his blanket up to his neck and slips his arms beneath it before trailing a leisurely hand over his chest. Having given himself permission to indulge, he is determined not to rush anything. He chooses one particularly pleasant visual to focus on, forcing all others out of his head. His thumb finds a nipple, rubbing teasing circles over the hardening nub. He swallows down the soft sigh that threatens to escape as his back arches into the caress. Lori was always quiet in bed. Responsive and affectionate, but quiet. Their first few times together, Rick found the sound of his unaccompanied moans echoing around the room to be utterly mortifying. He soon learned to reign them in. It’s a handy skill to have in times like these. 

Prison privacy being what it is, certain nocturnal activities of some of the prison’s occupants are common knowledge by now. Even Carl and Patrick have joined in the knowing looks that get exchanged whenever Glenn and Maggie leave a room together. Individuals are usually given the benefit of the doubt but are occasionally subject to a smirk or a raised eyebrow if they retire to bed early or appear to have taken an unusually long time in the bathroom. Rick doesn’t see much point in getting embarrassed over it. It is a natural human urge, after all. The fact that they are safe enough to be able to act on these kinds of urges is a cause for celebration as far as he is concerned. 

His fantasy for the evening is almost juvenile in its simplicity. He thinks only of two hands entwining, of calloused palms sliding together and clever fingers stroking over knuckles and around wrists. Imagining any part of his bare skin being in contact with Daryl’s is enough to make him buck his hips up against the blanket. His hands have reached his thighs now, fingernails drawing small, ticklish circles over the sensitive skin. The back of his hand brushes the head of his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans softly. 

Daryl would not take his time. Rick is certain of this. Daryl would have adapted early to having the kind of brother who probably made it his mission to catch Daryl in the act just to make fun of him. If Daryl allowed himself to do this at all, he would be quick and silent and purposeful. His focus would be solely on the outcome, not on the pleasure you can derive in getting there. Rick could change that. He could show Daryl how to appreciate his body and how good it can make him feel. 

He is jerking himself in earnest now, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he thrusts up into the welcoming circle of his fist. A thin sheen of sweat covers his body, but he doesn’t dare move out from under the covers. It is not impossible that he might be interrupted at some point. The others are beginning to retire to bed, their boots clattering on the stairs. Rick bites down hard on his lip to stifle the moans that are trying to escape. He can handle people knowing he does this, but he’d rather them not hear him doing it. The curtains help muffle sounds, but they do not block them entirely. 

His movements become more urgent as the heat that has been slowly building in his belly reaches its natural peak. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, using the moisture that is gathering there to ease the slick slide of his hand. His eyes close and his jaw slackens. Fantasy Daryl scrapes his fingernails over fantasy Rick’s palm. The real Rick comes with a soft gasp. 

Panting heavily, he stares up at the ceiling, the evidence of his release still fresh on his fingers. Slowly, he becomes aware that the easing of one frustration has only heightened another. He _still_ doesn’t know what he wants. Clearly he is attracted to Daryl, but what does he want from him? One night to work through all this pent-up lust? More than one night? An actual relationship, with all the expectations that entails, or something casual? Come to think of it, Rick doesn’t know what Daryl wants either. He said he wanted Rick, but not to what extent. For all Rick knows, he’s sitting up at night trying to work out if he loves a man who wants nothing more than a quick fuck. 

The dining room is almost empty when Rick arrives for breakfast, which gives him time to mull over the situation some more. The major problem at the moment is that he is trying to answer questions that require a second opinion. The thought fills him with dread. He has no idea how to begin a conversation like this, especially with someone as reserved as Daryl. Thankfully, Daryl was already deep in conversation with Hershel when Rick arrived, which at least prevented him from blurting out something stupid at the first chance he got. Rick greets them both and then leaves them to it, staring down at his bowl of cereal as though all the answers he seeks might be hiding amongst the soggy oats. 

“Good morning,” Hershel says cheerfully. 

Rick looks up as Glenn and Maggie enter the room. Glenn’s arm is around Maggie’s shoulders. She is laughing, her eyes sparkling and her face pressed into Glenn’s neck. Seeing them so happy together brings a fond smile to Rick’s face. Their relationship gives hope to them all. He risks a glance at Daryl. What he sees on Daryl’s face is enough to cause the smile to drop from his. It is pure, unguarded longing. Not just any old longing either. It is the longing of someone who has resigned themselves to never having the thing they long for. The expression is only there for a second, but it is enough for Rick. Daryl is suffering, and he may be suffering needlessly. That is unacceptable. 

It is neither the time nor the place to do anything about it though, so Rick washes his dishes and heads out into the garden. The physical labor and Carl and Patrick’s eventual company is a welcome distraction. It prevents him from worrying too much about whether he’s about to make a big mistake. When they have finished tending the garden, Carl and Rick join the group clearing away the walkers that are beginning to pile up around the outer fences. Patrick hangs back and watches them carefully, still building up to putting Carl’s lessons into practice. 

They are heading in for the day when Rick catches sight of Daryl in a corner of the yard. The afternoon sun is lending Daryl’s skin the same golden glow that got them into this mess in the first place. It is, Rick feels, about as good a sign as he is ever likely to get. He tells the boys to go on in without him, runs a hand through his hair and summons up all of his courage. Daryl looks up as Rick draws near, and they exchange a nod in greeting. 

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Rick asks, something he’s trained himself to do ever since Daryl’s request for space. Daryl hasn’t refused once, but Rick feels he owes his friend the courtesy all the same. 

“Sure,” Daryl replies, setting down the cloth he was using to clean his crossbow and looking expectantly up at Rick. 

“Not here,” Rick murmurs, glancing at the people milling around. 

Daryl shoots him a confused frown as he stands and wipes his hands on the back of his jeans. He motions for Rick to lead on, and follows him over to a secluded part of the yard, away from the barbeque and washing line. It is one of the few spaces in the prison that is both free from walkers and relatively private. As a result, it has become a popular spot for conversations that people do not want to have overheard. There is an unspoken rule that any discussion that might be taking place there is not to be interrupted unless there is a serious emergency going on. On such occasions, attention should be drawn from a distance. Everyone knows and respects this rule. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Rick replies, leaning up against the prison wall and fixing Daryl with a piercing gaze. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me that night in the guard tower.” 

Daryl’s face hardens instantly. “Shit,” he groans. “That conversation was bad enough the first time around. You really wanna suffer through it again?”

“I think you’ll like the ending better this time,” Rick says softly, offering Daryl a tentative smile. 

“Don’t,” Daryl growls warningly. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Rick exclaims. 

“I can guess,” Daryl snarls, “and I ain’t interested in hearin’ it. Don’t want no pity from no one, least of all you.” He turns to walk away, but Rick lunges forward and grabs his arm. 

The feeling of hard muscle beneath Rick’s palm nearly derails his train of thought, but he recovers enough to insist, “It ain’t about pity. Just hear me out.”

Daryl’s shoulders slump in deference to the pleading tone in Rick’s voice. Rick lets his hand fall, trusting Daryl not to make another attempt to escape. 

“You said you wanted me,” Rick states. Daryl gives a short, sharp nod in confirmation. “I was wondering what exactly it is that you want.”

Daryl snorts. “Don’t fucking matter what I want. You ain’t gay.” 

“You don’t know that,” Rick counters. “ _I_ don’t even know for sure what I am these days.” 

“And you think now is a good time to be figuring it out?” Daryl demands incredulously. 

Rick shrugs. “Never had a reason to figure it out before.”

The implication – that Daryl _might_ constitute a reason – makes Daryl blush even as he scowls at Rick. “You can’t just wake up one mornin’ and decide you want…this,” Daryl argues, his blush deepening. “The world don’t work like that.”

“You’re right,” Rick acknowledges. “It doesn’t. But nearly every day since I woke up from my coma I’ve found myself doing something I never imagined doing before. I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to take up farming either. I thought about it first. More than you realise. And I’ve thought about this.” 

When Daryl doesn’t reply immediately, Rick presses his advantage. “The thing is, until I know what you’re looking for I can’t tell if I’m capable of giving it to you.”

A pained look flashes across Daryl’s face. He stares at Rick for a moment and then sighs heavily. Rick gets that he is thinking carefully about how to respond, how much to reveal. He waits patiently. 

“It ain’t just a physical thing if that’s what ya mean,” Daryl says eventually, speaking more to his toes than to Rick. 

“I know,” Rick replies. Daryl’s head jerks up at that. “I saw you watching Glenn and Maggie this morning.”

Daryl blushes again. “What they have…it’s nice.” 

Rick can work with that. 

“I miss you,” he admits. It’s a paltry confession compared to what he’s asked of Daryl, but it’s a start. “A lot. And I think that means something, but I’m not sure what just yet, and I’d like you to give me some time to figure it out and I don’t want to stay away from you anymore but I will if you really want me to.”

The torrent of words takes Daryl by surprise. For a moment, all he can do is stare disbelievingly at Rick. The fact that Rick hadn’t punched him in the face when he reluctantly admitted his feelings was already more than Daryl had dared hope for. It seems absurd to him that Rick should now be standing in front of him telling him that it is not impossible that those feelings could be returned. Rick has never given Daryl reason to doubt the truthfulness of his words before though, which leaves him with no other option than to accept that Rick is serious. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he says evenly. “And time is just about the only thing we got plenty of.” For a second, it looks as though he is going to add something else, but then he shakes his head and walks away. 

Rick watches him until he disappears from view, feeling flustered and nervous and excited. It might be slow progress, but it is progress nonetheless.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Carl was born in the middle of an unusually mild summer. Rick is pretty sure he smiled non-stop for a week after it happened. Those first few days, when Lori was still in the hospital, were an endless parade of family and friends and tears and advice and _noise_. It had been such a relief to return home, just the three of them, to peace and quiet and the start of a new chapter in their lives. Lori had been understandably exhausted, so Rick had run her a bath while she fed Carl and then he sat down on their front porch with Carl in his arms. It was the first time he’d been alone with his son since his birth, and he has never forgotten the way it made him feel. 

He had looked down at the tiny, sleeping bundle, and a world of possibilities had opened up before him. Would Carl look like Lori or Rick when he was older, or a mixture of both? Would he be a sporty kid or a bookworm? What would he want to be when he grew up? Will he get married some day? Would he have children of his own? What will his hopes and dreams be? 

If Rick has learned anything in the past couple of months, it is that humanity – or at least the small portion of it he has the good fortune to know – has an almost inexhaustible ability to hope. Hope kept them moving after the debacle at the CDC. Hope inspired them to gather what shreds of strength they had left to make that initial attempt at claiming the prison. Hope prompted them to establish a garden in the middle of the fucking apocalypse. Most of life’s possibilities have been ripped away from them now, but all of them, in their own way, continue to hope. 

Not that there’s much use in hoping for anything more than the fences continuing to keep the walkers at bay and that everyone who leaves comes back safely. But the longer they stay at the prison, the more Rick has noticed other hopes beginning to spring up. That’s why they’d gone out and bought curtains and pillows and umbrellas. That’s why Glenn takes every chance he can get to check out any abandoned jewellery store they happen to come across. That’s why Carol has been knitting sweaters for Judith and a couple of the Woodbury girls. That’s why Rick takes the time to grow so many different kinds of plants instead of feeding them peas for the rest of their lives. They’re aiming for something better than survival. 

Rick can’t say for certain if the softness he’s seen in Daryl’s eyes in the past couple of weeks truly is hope or just something that looks a lot like it. Whatever it is, it’s new. So is the fact that Daryl no longer makes any attempt to avoid their shoulders bumping together at dinner. In fact, he seems to go out of his way to ensure it. He doesn’t look away whenever his eyes meet Rick’s either. He holds Rick’s gaze, steady and calm. He joins in the gentle teasing of Farmer Rick, his dry remarks bringing tears of laughter to Carl’s face. He stops by Rick’s cell every evening, leaning against the doorframe and initiating a conversation that could very easily have waited until morning. 

It isn’t flirting – Daryl is too self-conscious for that – but there is a playfulness about it that makes Rick smile whenever he thinks of it. And he thinks of it a lot. It feels like he’s getting a small glimpse of what it might be like to be in a relationship with Daryl. It feels good.

*

It rains again. Not torrentially – thankfully – but heavy enough to force them to abandon any attempt at outside work and retreat indoors. Most people pass the day in their privacy of their cell, reading or cleaning or catching up on some much-needed sleep. As usual, they come together for dinner and retire to the lounge afterwards. Spirits are high, despite the rain. Earlier in the day, Patrick successfully put down his first walker. In the twisted world they now occupy, that’s a cause for celebration.

It begins simply, with Daryl disappearing for a moment and returning with two unopened blocks of chocolate he had managed to squirrel away somewhere. The first he presents to Patrick in acknowledgement of his courage, the second to Carl in recognition of his excellent teaching. Rick is pretty certain that Daryl could give them all the chocolate left in the country and it wouldn’t mean as much to either boy as the glimmer of pride in his eyes as he hands the blocks over. There’s a round of applause then, their collective relief at having one more capable person in their midst outweighing their distaste at cheering the fact that a teenage boy has learned how to kill. They both open their treats immediately, sharing them around and taking care to ensure that everyone receives a piece. 

Rick’s not entirely sure who it is that suggests breaking out the wine, but all those who respond to the suggestion do so with enthusiasm. It is not something they often do, certainly not en masse, but the occasional indulgence is good for morale. At least, that’s what Rick tells himself as he takes a swig from his bottle of red wine and slings an arm around the shoulder of Louisa, one of their chefs for the evening. She blushes when Rick compliments her on the flatbread she had improvised and laughed when he told her of his one and only attempt at baking bread, shortly after Carl was born. He gives her shoulder a gentle pat and moves on to another conversation. 

Like a general or a king visiting with his beleaguered soldiers in the middle of a battleground, Rick moves from group to group. He doesn’t offer much – a smile here, a word of encouragement there. The admiration of the Woodbury people still makes him uncomfortable, but he is learning how to make use of it. 

An hour later, he ends up where he started, balancing Judith on his hip while the half-empty bottle dangles from his left hand. It is starting to feel like a real party now. The younger kids are engrossed in a game of Monopoly. The adults are chatting and laughing loudly, some of them passing a bottle between them and others, like Rick, claiming a whole bottle for themselves. Maggie and Beth have, for some inexplicable reason, taken it upon themselves to teach Glenn and Patrick to dance. Carl had begged off, though he seems to be regretting that decision when Beth steps in close to Patrick and urges him to dip her. 

The girls are humming a melody that is vaguely familiar. Rick finds himself swaying along, and he’s not the only one. An impromptu dance floor is forming in the middle of the room. Tyreese leads Karen into a slow waltz. Bob and Sasha opt for a tango. The dance’s innate drama is lessened somewhat by the fact that neither of them can stop giggling. Carl plucks Judith from Rick’s hands and twirls around with her. It’s the most beautiful thing Rick has seen in a long time. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Louisa approaching him nervously. She needn’t worry. Rick has no intention of refusing a dance, though his skills are not what they used to be. He soon relaxes into it, raising his arm to execute a passable spin. That’s when he sees Daryl slipping out of the room. 

It’s strange. No part of Daryl’s face is visible to Rick, and yet he feels instinctively that something is wrong. He excuses himself the moment he can do so without causing offence and heads off in search of Daryl. He finds him standing in the middle of his cell, his back turned towards the door, and his shoulders heaving as though he’s just run a marathon. 

“Hey,” Rick says softly, stepping into the small room. 

Daryl doesn’t turn around. On a normal day, Rick would interpret that – correctly – as a sign that Daryl wasn’t interested in company right now. Tonight, however, he is a little brain-addled with wine and the happy memory of Carl and Judith dancing, so he steps further into the cell and reaches out to rest a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” he tries again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Daryl snaps, whirling around to glare at Rick. 

“You disappeared in a hurry just now,” Rick stammers, shocked at the ferocity of Daryl’s response. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“’m fine,” Daryl replies shortly. 

He’s clearly not. Rick casts his mind over the day, trying to work out what he could have done or said to upset Daryl. When nothing jumps out at him, he puts it down to a simple bad mood. They’re all guilty of those occasionally. 

“Okay,” he says placatingly, holding his hands up and backing away. “Are you coming back to join us then?”

“Nope.”

Rick sighs. “Please don’t do this,” he pleads. “We allow ourselves so few nights off like this. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, we’ll figure it out tomorrow. Just please, let us have tonight.” 

“Ain’t stoppin’ ya,” Daryl says dismissively. 

Rick frowns. “It isn’t the same without you.”

Daryl meets Rick’s concerned gaze with a cool one of his own. “It was right, what you said before. We don’t get nights like this that often. And I’d rather not spend mine watchin’ you getting cosy with some woman.” 

Rick blanches. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

Daryl’s red face is all the answer Rick needs. He’s _jealous_. The thought is so ridiculous that Rick very nearly bursts out laughing. For one thing, it is a very long time since anyone thought he was worth getting jealous over. For another, there was nothing worth getting jealous about. Yes, he had danced with Louisa, but it was a friendly dance. He had been no more moved by the experience than he would have been dancing with Carol or Bob or Hershel. 

“It ain’t like that,” Rick says. 

“I know what I saw,” Daryl snarls. “Look, I ain’t blamin’ ya, and I know I ain’t got no right to be bothered by it. You don’t owe me nothin’. Just figured you’d at least have the balls to tell me when you’d figured out what ya wanted instead of rubbin’ it in my face.”

“I haven’t figured out what I want,” Rick insists. 

Daryl snorts derisively. The sound grates on Rick. After everything that went down with Lori and Shane, Daryl ought to know that Rick is the last person to flirt with someone when they are supposed to be committed, however loosely, to someone else. And he is committed to Daryl, or at least committed to figuring out how he feels about Daryl. If anyone has a right to be angry here, it’s him, for being pushed into making a decision before he is ready. It’s true that Daryl probably hasn’t had enough friends in his life for him to recognise the lack of intent in Rick’s actions, but that doesn’t give him the right to start putting words in Rick’s mouth. 

He looks mournfully at Daryl. “You already know who you are, and that’s great,” he says quietly. “It’s not that easy for me.”

“You think this is easy for me?” Daryl hisses, his eyes flashing angrily. “You think it was easy to sit back and listen to my pa rantin’ about fags every night knowin’ I were one? You think it was easy comin’ up with excuses every time Merle brought some skank home and tried to get me to fuck her? You think it’s easy sittin’ around waitin’ for ya knowin’ you might decide I ain’t worth it after all?”

Every word is like a knife to Rick’s chest. _Of course_ it isn’t easy for Daryl. Nothing in Daryl’s life has ever been easy, and Rick was callous to have suggested otherwise. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “That was unfair.” He seriously considers cutting his losses and leaving before he makes the situation worse. 

“Whatever,” Daryl sighs. He sounds disappointed rather than angry now, which is a whole lot worse as far as Rick is concerned. 

“It ain’t about worth,” he remarks firmly. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that. You’re the best man I know. You’re the best man I’ve _ever_ known. Frankly I’m incredibly flattered that you feel the way you do about me. But this ain’t just about us. We got people relying on us to keep them safe. I can’t do that without you. I’m just not sure that now is a good time to be doing anything that might jeopardise what we already have.” 

“Look around you. There ain’t ever gonna be a good time for shit like this. You either do it or you don’t. End of story.”

“You’re right,” Rick sighs, struck once again with how wise Daryl can be. He lets out a little groan of frustration. “You told me not so long ago that you weren’t going anywhere. Well, I ain’t either. I _am_ trying to figure this out, and I promise you I ain’t thinking of anyone else until I do.” 

It is far less than Daryl deserves, but it is all the comfort Rick can offer right now. He moves to leave the room but turns around when Daryl calls out his name. 

“For what it’s worth,” Daryl says awkwardly, “I will always have your back. Ain’t nothin’ more important to me than keeping our people safe.”

Rick could kiss him for that. Instead, he throws Daryl a small, tentative smile and steps out of the cell. He is almost at the stairs when he hears an unmistakable set of footprints coming down the corridor. Grinning, he pauses and waits for Daryl to fall into step beside him.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Rick has been forced to watch enough sappy romantic comedies in his time to have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to unfold from here. He fully expects to be struck with a realisation while going about his business one day, either that he and Daryl are meant to be together or that it would be better for them to remain friends. He has even caught himself contemplating situations in which that realisation might arise. 

Watching Daryl interacting with Carl and Judith seems the most likely option to Rick. He always feels a rush of fondness whenever he sees the three of them together. It is not difficult to imagine that feeling suddenly swelling into something more intense. 

Or perhaps it will be seeing Daryl return from a successful run with food and supplies for their people, sweat making his skin shine as he unloads his haul from the back of one of the trucks.

Rick’s green-eyed monster has been dormant until now, but there’s a chance that the sight of Daryl and Carol laughing together might awaken it. He might react rashly then, but Daryl would forgive him eventually. 

Maybe their eyes will meet across the breakfast table one morning, and Rick will just _know_. 

He walks around in a near-constant state of anticipation, wondering if today will be the day. 

What actually ends up happening is that Rick is just drifting off to sleep one night when he is struck, not by an overwhelming desire for Daryl, but by a profound sense of his own stupidity. So what if he can’t say for certain that he and Daryl will work out? When he first made the decision to trust Daryl he wasn’t certain that he should. Six months ago he couldn’t say for certain that they would make it through the night without one of them freezing to death. Whenever anyone leaves the prison, Rick can’t say for certain that they will return. Theirs is an uncertain world. No amount of deliberating will change that. 

All that matters is whether or not Rick _wants_ things between them to work out. Whether he is willing to do whatever it takes to make sure they work out. 

When Rick arrives at breakfast the following morning – after the best night’s sleep he’s had in weeks – he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Because Daryl is there, and he’s wearing one of his sleeveless shirts and he looks so, so good and there is an empty seat next to him that everyone knows belongs to Rick and both of their lives are about to change forever, and Rick can’t wait to get started. 

“Ya look unusually happy this mornin’,” Daryl observes as Rick sits down, seeing straight through Rick’s attempt to look as though today is just another ordinary day. 

“I am unusually happy this morning,” Rick replies, flashing Daryl a toothy grin. 

Daryl raises an eyebrow in a silent request for more information. The fact that Daryl cares about the reason and believes he has a right to ask after it speaks volumes. 

“I finally figured it out,” Rick murmurs. 

“Oh,” Daryl says softly, looking away from Rick for a long moment, clearly bracing himself for whatever comes next. 

Rick spears a small tomato and takes a bite. Hesitantly, Daryl returns his eyes to Rick. Rick makes the most of the opportunity and flicks his tongue out to catch the tomato juice that is in danger of running down his chin. Daryl’s eyes darken unmistakably, and his cheeks fill with colour. Rick gives himself a mental high five. It might be an eternity since he’s flirted with someone, but at least he hasn’t completely lost his touch. 

“You gonna tell me or are ya just gonna sit there being a fuckin’ tease?” Daryl grumbles, falling back on anger to mask his nervousness. 

“You really think I’d be smiling if I knew you weren’t gonna like what I had to say?”

Daryl stares at Rick for a long moment and then gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Rick can practically hear him trying to process the implications of Rick’s words. It pains him to see how difficult Daryl finds it to accept that, for once in his life, he might be getting what he wants. Rick shifts slightly, pressing their forearms and thighs together. The hair on Daryl’s arms rises in response, sending a sharp jolt of heat simmering down Rick’s spine. He’d like nothing more than to forget all about their chores for the day and drag Daryl somewhere private to start making up for lost time. 

That is not who either of them are though, so he settles for shuffling further into Daryl’s side and remarking, his eyes sparkling, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, of course.”

“No,” Daryl says quickly, loud enough to draw the attention of several other people at the table, causing him to start blushing again. “No,” he says again, quieter this time. “I ain’t changed my mind.”

“Good,” Rick replies. People are starting to stare at them now, clearly wondering what has Daryl so flustered. Rick wisely opts to steer the conversation over to something less likely to end with either one of them further embarrassing themselves. “You’re going on a run today, right?”

“Yeah,” Daryl confirms, relief flashing in his eyes. “Gonna take Glenn and Maggie and hit up a couple of houses for some clothes and blankets. Should only be gone a couple of hours. Might take one of the new folks if any of em are interested. You checkin’ the traps?”

Rick nods. “Then giving Tyreese a hand reinforcing the eastern fence. And I’ve got the midnight watch later.”

They finish the rest of the meal in silence, Rick’s subtle invitation hanging unanswered in the air between them. 

It remains unanswered until one o’clock the next morning, when a weary Daryl pushes open the trapdoor to join Rick in the guard tower. 

“Hey,” Rick says brightly, taking advantage of the fact that they are alone to let his delight at Daryl’s appearance show on his face. 

Daryl is less transparent, but he does allow the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards as he returns the greeting. They debriefed for the day over dinner. They have no plans to review or issues to resolve. The rest of the prison’s occupants are either sleeping or occupying themselves in their cells. They have no excuses. Ever-cautious, Daryl shoots a questioning look, first at Rick and then at one of the windows that look out over the prison yard. Rick shakes his head. All clear. 

“I ain’t done this in a while,” Daryl admits. The admission is made clearly and calmly. Daryl’s blue eyes remain fixed on Rick’s. 

“Me neither,” Rick replies. 

“No,” Daryl says, shaking his head. “Even before. Not like this.” 

Rick doesn’t press Daryl for an explanation. Frankly he’s not sure he needs one. Daryl has never seemed like the flowers and chocolate, long-term romance type. He has a hard time opening up to people, and he’s a gay man in a part of the country where men frequently get the shit kicked out of them for being so. It is not difficult to picture him in a dingy alley, getting what little relief he could from some nameless stranger and then walking away without a backward glance. Rick’s guessing any kind of tenderness was pretty low down on the priority list. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Rick assures him. 

“Fuck that,” Daryl snorts. “Waited long enough for ya already.” He freezes as he realises what he has just said, the colour draining from his face. “Can if you want though,” he rushes to amend. “Don’t wanna push ya into nothin’.”

Rick laughs. “You wouldn’t be.”

It is impossible to say which of them moves first, but within seconds they are standing together in the middle of the room. Rick’s hands fall to Daryl’s waist, squeezing lightly. Daryl’s come to rest on Rick’s lower back, his fingers tangling in the rough fabric of Rick’s plaid shirt. 

“Don’t have to wait anymore,” Rick murmurs, tilting his head back and looking expectantly at Daryl. 

That throws Daryl for a moment. Rick leads, Daryl follows. They both know that is how things are supposed to work between them. It is not until he takes in the hint of red staining Rick’s cheeks that it occurs to him that, whilst he might not have done this for a while, Rick’s never done it with another man. 

Before either one of them has a chance to chicken out, Daryl steps forward and brushes a soft, fleeting kiss to Rick’s lips. Rick’s lips, like Daryl’s, are chapped from long hours spent working outdoors. They taste faintly of the coffee Rick must have drunk before coming out for his shift. It’s a good taste, one that Daryl knows is probably even more intoxicating behind Rick’s lips, if he only had the courage to seek it out. 

It is quite possibly the bravest thing he has ever done, and it pays off big time when Rick slides a hand into Daryl’s hair to deepen the kiss even further. The action encourages Daryl to slip his fingers under the back of Rick’s shirt. The smoothness of the skin he finds there is a stark contrast to the mess he knows awaits Rick on his own back. He swallows down his impending panic and focuses instead on the gentle motions of Rick’s fingers carding through his hair. As ugly as his scars may be, they won’t come as a surprise to Rick. You can’t live as closely as they have for as long as they have without it being necessary to change in front of each other at some point. If the memory of the last time he’d seen them isn’t enough to put Rick off, then Daryl is going to do his best not to worry about them. 

Rick doesn’t seem put off, not going by the way he’s tangling his tongue with Daryl’s and twirling strands of Daryl’s hair around his fingers. He’s making happy sounds too, little sighs and groans that shoot straight to Daryl’s cock. Daryl would like to respond with some noises of his own, can feel them building in the back of his throat, but the sensation of having Rick’s hands and lips on him seems to have rendered him speechless. He’ll just have to hope that Rick gets the message from the way he keeps leaning closer and stroking his fingers up and down Rick’s spine. 

Any chance that Daryl will soon recover the ability to speak goes out the window the moment Rick trails his lips along Daryl’s jaw and up to his ear. 

“I knew you’d be good at this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along Daryl’s lower lip. 

The comment takes Daryl by surprise. Very few of his past tumbles involved kissing in any way and none of those left him feeling at all confident in his abilities. If he is good, then it is probably because he’s kissing _Rick_ , who he wants to kiss more than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone else. 

Daryl ducks his head, buries his face in Rick’s neck and breathes in the warm, masculine scent. Despite his earlier disdain for taking things slowly, he now finds himself wanting to do exactly that. Kissing Rick is too good to rush past, even if what they’re rushing to might be even better. 

One of Rick’s hands comes up to cup the back of Daryl’s head as he takes a step backwards so he can look Daryl in the eye. “Just this?” he asks, once again displaying an uncanny ability to read Daryl. 

Daryl nods. 

Rick looks hopefully at the mound of blankets piled up against the wall. “How about we take it somewhere more comfortable then?” 

Daryl nods again. He hasn’t given much thought to how the specifics would work between them. He never imagined he’d have to. It feels natural to lie down for Rick though. He’s always been…versatile in the past, has never understood why some men seemed to think it was somehow less gay to be the fucker rather than the fuckee. And he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t longed to have Rick’s solid weight bearing down on him. 

The decision clearly pleases Rick, whose blue eyes darken with arousal as he waits for Daryl to get comfortable. He keeps his eyes locked on Daryl’s as he drops to his knees, positioning one on either side of Daryl’s before leaning over and joining their lips once more.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The skin of Daryl’s cheek is rough beneath Rick’s palm. He slides his hand lower, his fingers curling around Daryl’s neck while his thumb strokes along the firm line of Daryl’s jaw. Daryl’s stubble bristles against the pad of Rick’s thumb. It is a new but not at all unpleasant sensation. For his part, Daryl’s fingers trail leisurely up and down Rick’s spine. It puts Rick in mind of a classical pianist, though he knows Daryl would laugh at the comparison. The kiss remains relatively chaste, nothing more than the soft slide of lips, but it is enough to set a fire humming in Rick’s veins. It is a long time since he has been close to someone like this. 

Rick has never understood how anyone could get tired of kissing. For most of the men down at the station, kissing was a necessary but boring step along the road to far more interesting activities. Rick has never seen it that way. The endless variety has always been fascinating to him, and the inherent intimacy of the act has never lost its thrill. No two kisses ever feel the same to him. When he presses a sloppy kiss to the back of Judith’s hand just to watch her giggle and squirm, it is a reminder that she is alive and healthy and _happy_. On the rare occasion that he gives in to the impulse to kiss Carol quickly on the cheek, it is an acknowledgement of shared suffering and understanding and determination. When he drops a kiss to the top of Beth’s golden hair, it is in appreciation of her persistent sweetness and optimism and devotion to Judith. It feels different every time. 

The pressure of Daryl’s lips is slowly increasing. One of his hands leaves Rick’s back to cup his chin, urging him to open up to Daryl’s clever tongue. Rick does so eagerly, and finds himself welcomed into the warm heat of Daryl’s mouth in return. There is something rich and earthy about Daryl’s taste. It is if the raw goodness of the wilderness he spends so much time in has seeped into his very bones. Rick can’t get enough of it. He briefly considers telling Daryl as much but dismisses the idea as it would require him to end the kiss. 

Kissing Daryl is nothing like Rick thought it would be. He had been expecting inexperience, hesitation and clumsiness. Part of him wondered whether kissing was even something Daryl was interested in, given his usual aversion to touch of any kind. But Daryl’s responses are calm and languid and enthusiastic. The hand still resting on Rick’s back draws their bodies closer together. He is quiet, but he shows no signs of being uncomfortable. 

Rick is not ignorant of how important that fact is. For Daryl to believe Rick when he said he wanted to give this a go, for him to show up in the guard tower and make the first physical move to change their relationship, for him allow Rick to press him into a pile of old blankets without feeling caged in…these are not small things. This isn’t Daryl going along with whatever Rick suggests just because he trusts him. Daryl _wants_ this. The thought makes Rick sigh happily into the kiss. He feels rather than sees Daryl’s answering smile. 

The need for air eventually forces Rick to break the kiss. While Rick catches his breath, Daryl attaches his lips to the underside of Rick’s jaw. Forgetting himself for a moment, Rick lets out a moan that, though soft, still echoes around the small room. He feels himself beginning to blush, but the shudder that rolls through Daryl tells Rick that the noise didn’t bother Daryl at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He tilts his head to give Daryl better access, and Daryl takes full advantage. Teeth have entered the fray now, softly scraping over the point where Rick’s jaw meets his neck. Rick’s fingers rest against Daryl’s throat, feeling the muscles there twitch and jump. 

When their lips meet again, Rick doesn’t hesitate. His tongue makes straight for the spicy warmth of Daryl’s mouth. Daryl’s hand slides to Rick’s hips. The urge to roll his hips down in search of friction is beginning to build. 

“God damn it,” Daryl curses softly. 

“What’s wrong?” Rick asks, immediately pulling away and fixing Daryl with a concerned look. 

“I heard something,” Daryl explains. “Outside.”

Rick is on his feet and over at the window in seconds. He can’t see much through the grimy glass, so he heads out onto the narrow balcony. The fields are clear. The fence that he and Tyreese had reinforced earlier in the day remains upright. The wind rustles the trees in the forest. More than that Rick cannot say. There does not appear to be anything to worry about, but that doesn’t stop Rick from feeling a sharp stab of shame. How many times has he chastised Glenn and Maggie for not taking their watch duties seriously? 

“I can’t see anything,” he says as Daryl joins him on the balcony. 

Daryl scans the area for a moment and then nods. Every line of Daryl’s body is tense, ready to spring into action if necessary, but his lips are kiss-swollen, and his eyes are bright. He looks beautiful. The sight causes the words Rick had been planning to say to catch in his throat. He doesn’t need them in the end – Daryl already knows. 

“I should probably go,” Daryl says reluctantly. 

“Probably,” Rick sighs in agreement. “I ain’t gonna be much use as a lookout with you here to distract me.” Daryl tries and fails to hide a smile. “No need to look so pleased with yourself,” Rick teases, knocking their shoulders together. 

Slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on Rick’s, Daryl takes a step forward and leans in for a sweet kiss. 

“Get some rest,” Rick murmurs, resting his forehead against Daryl’s. 

Daryl nods and steps away.

*

Everything changes, and yet nothing does. There are too many other concerns in their lives to get caught up in the excitement of a new relationship. They barely see each other in the days immediately following their aborted guard tower rendezvous. Inspired by Carl’s success with Patrick, several other informal life skills classes have begun taking place in and around the prison. With Glenn and Maggie’s help, Carl expanded his lessons to include more of the Woodbury folk. Hershel began offering basic first aid training. Some of the older women decided to teach the younger ones to sew and knit. It was only a matter of time before people began pestering Daryl to pass on some of his hunting and tracking knowledge.

Daryl was understandably reluctant, worried that he didn’t have the patience to deal with so many people focusing their attention on him at once and asking him questions. It was Carl who convinced him in the end, pointing out that the things Daryl could teach them could be the difference between life and death for anyone who might end up lost in the woods at some point. To take some of the pressure off, Rick suggested that Carol might be able to assist Daryl. So far, it seems to be working well. They have started small, with Daryl explaining how to use the sun’s position to work out which direction you’re travelling in. Most of it is stuff Daryl has already taught Rick, but he wishes he could attend the sessions all the same. It warms his heart to Daryl being listened to and respected. He doesn’t want his presence to make Daryl nervous though, so he stays away. 

It is surprisingly easy to do so. The knowledge that he and Daryl are finally on the same page has brought Rick a welcome sense of contentment. He wants Daryl, he is more certain of that than ever, but he doesn’t feel a constant urge to be acting on that want. He is not a teenage boy, enslaved by hormones. He is patient. He has learned the value of a gradual, simmering seduction. Besides, the shared anticipation is its own kind of thrill. He loves passing Daryl on the stairs and knowing that some day he’ll get to find out if the curve of Daryl’s bicep tastes as good as it looks. He loves catching Daryl’s eye across a crowded room and knowing, without a doubt, that Daryl was thinking about Rick’s lips. 

That’s not to say they don’t make the most of the times when they can steal a few private moments together. Their mutual quietness makes it possible to steal into each other’s cell for a kiss – or more likely several kisses – before bed or early in the morning. They have always been acutely aware of each other’s bodies – that is one of the reasons they work so well together – but that awareness has begun to take on a whole new dimension. For example, Rick knows just how hard to scratch at Daryl’s scalp to cause the other man to shiver and hum in pleasure. Daryl has figured out just how much Rick likes the scrape of teeth along the column of his throat. Daryl prefers a softer approach. Wet, open-mouthed kisses go down a treat, as do gentle fingers skating over his cheeks and forehead. 

They are yet to lie down together again. It would be too easy to be caught that way. Instead, they stand together in the middle of whoever’s cell they happen to meet in that night. It is not the most comfortable of positions, but it does have the advantage of allowing Rick to become intimately acquainted with the long lines of Daryl’s back. Even through the thin fabric of Daryl’s shirt, Rick can appreciate the firm muscles honed by years of hard physical activity. He knows there are scars there – ugly scars – but as far as Rick is concerned there are just further proof of what an amazing man Daryl Dixon is. 

Rick is tired and aching from a long day of shovelling when he steps through the curtain and into his cell. Daryl is leaning up against the far wall, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looks up when Rick enters, and then frowns as he takes in Rick’s slumping shoulders. 

“I can go,” he offers. 

Rick shakes his head. “Don’t you dare. Come over here and kiss me.” 

Daryl goes willingly, stepping into the circle of Rick’s arms without hesitation. Rick throws his arms around Daryl’s neck as he pulls Daryl into a deep kiss. Daryl winds his fingers through Rick’s curls, tugging lightly. Their mouths meet and part in quick succession in a series of tender kisses. Daryl’s hands make their way south, dragging over the back of Rick’s neck and down to his shoulders. 

“Christ,” Daryl remarks as his fingers press on a spot that makes Rick wince. “What the fuck have you been doing to yerself?”

Rick chuckles. “No more than usual. I’m just getting old, I guess.” 

Daryl steps away and looks contemplatively at Rick. “I could….” He waves his hands in Rick’s general direction. 

A slow grin slides across Rick’s face. “You’re offering to give me a massage?” 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Daryl mutters dryly. “I’m offerin’ to give ya a massage, but I ain’t said nothin’ about no happy ending.”

“Pity,” Rick murmurs huskily, reaching out and drawing his thumb along Daryl’s lower lip. Daryl’s eyes flash dark as he flicks his tongue out to meet the digit. 

That’s another surprising thing about dating Daryl – if you can even call it that given that they haven’t gone anywhere together – he knows how to _play_. Rick loves that, loves their little back and forth bantering. And the mere suggestion of Daryl putting his hands on Rick’s bare back, never mind the rest of him, is enough to make Rick’s toes curl in his boots. They are going to be so good together. He can tell. 

Rick turns around and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto his bed. He’d like to lie down, but that is more temptation than either of them can be reasonably expected to resist. 

Daryl’s sharp intake of breath is flattery in its most sincere form. 

“Where does it hurt the most?” Daryl asks softly. 

“Down my right side, from the base of my neck to halfway down my spine,” Rick replies, reaching around as best he can to identify the source of the pain. 

Daryl touches his fingers to the back of Rick’s neck at the place Rick had indicated. When he is sure that he has the right spot, he gets straight to work. His thumbs move in careful circles, slowly increasing their pressure. Rick doesn’t need to be able to see him to know that his brows are knitted together in concentration. He is clearly taking his task very seriously. Rick lets his eyes fall closed and focuses on his breathing and the steady movements of Daryl’s hands. 

“Okay?” Daryl asks. 

“More than okay,” Rick replies blissfully. “Your hands feel amazing.” 

Daryl goes quiet then, but Rick can tell he’s pleased. 

It is over far too soon for Rick’s liking, but that is probably for the best. It is still relatively early – they could still be interrupted. It might have only been a short massage, but Rick can already feel the benefits. 

“Thank you,” he says as he pulls his shirt back on. “That was just what I needed.” 

“Now I really should go,” Daryl says, but he makes no move to leave. 

Rick would dearly love to ask Daryl to stay. That is a colossally bad idea though, so he pulls Daryl into his arms once more and kisses him instead. 

“Goodnight sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t realise he’s said it for a good couple of seconds, though he does immediately notice the way Daryl’s skin heats beneath his palms. For a moment, he fears he’s royally fucked up. Daryl is silent for a long moment, but then he lifts his lips to Rick’s ear and says, his voice shaking slightly, “Sleep well, darlin’.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Lazy Sunday afternoons do not exist anymore. There are no Christmases or birthdays or Independence Days. There are no dreaded Monday mornings or wild Saturday nights out on the town. Rick is not even sure what month it is, never mind what year. He knows Beth was keeping track for a while. For all he knows, she still is. Personally he has long ceased caring. He wakes up, and he does whatever needs to be done that day. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to him whether it is Tuesday or Wednesday, late June or early July. 

Some lingering awareness must remain, however. There are mornings when, for no obvious reason, he wakes up hating the world and everything in it, including himself. Mornings when getting out of bed to deal with whatever the day holds seems like more trouble than it is worth. Mornings when, when he finally does drag himself out of bed, his legs feel like lead, and there is a persistent itch beneath his skin that cannot be scratched. Mornings when he is grumpy and impatient and terse with anyone who crosses his path. And somewhere deep down inside, he knows it is _Monday_ fucking morning. 

Thankfully, today is not one of those days. Today has an easy, relaxed feel about it. That is partly because Rick has given himself a rare afternoon off. It is partly because everyone else is still going about their daily work, leaving the cellblock quiet and as close to peaceful as a prison could ever feel. Mostly it’s because Daryl – when Rick told him he would not be going back out to the garden after lunch – decided that he could do with an afternoon off too. 

Which is how they ended up in Rick’s cell with no one around to hear them and very little chance of interruption. It begins the same way it always does, with soft kisses in the middle of the room. It does not stay like that for long. Rick can pinpoint the exact moment that Daryl realises the opportunity. His tongue slips between Rick’s parted lips and sets about mapping every crevice of Rick’s mouth. His arms wrap around Rick’s waist, hands gripping the back of Rick’s shirt in tight fists. The kiss has an intensity about it that none of their previous kisses even come close to matching. It is a development that Rick is more than willing to get behind. 

He takes a step forward, urging Daryl to move toward the bed. As usual, Daryl is right there with him. Rick breaks the kiss just in time to stop Daryl from smashing his head against the top bunk. The words _Is this okay?_ hover at the back of Rick’s throat. He swallows them down, trusting that if Daryl were uncomfortable, he would say so. He can sense the same question in Daryl’s eyes as they bore into Rick’s, but Daryl too leaves it unasked. His concern is not unwarranted or unwelcome. If they lay down together now, they will not stop at kissing. 

A sure, steady nod from Rick is all it takes. Daryl sits down on the edge of Rick’s bed and slowly slides off his boots. He keeps his eyes fixed on Rick’s, watching for any indication that this isn’t what Rick wants. It is not intended to be seductive, but nevertheless it makes Rick’s jeans feel suddenly too tight, and sweat break out across his forehead. He wants this. Daryl. He wants Daryl. 

Rick kicks his shoes off and under the bed. Daryl is already stretched out waiting for him, lying on his side with his head propped up on his elbow. There is just enough room for Rick to mirror the position. They are practically sharing air. It takes no effort at all for Rick to lean over and seal his lips over Daryl’s. He rests his hand on Daryl’s stomach, delighting in the way the muscles clench through the thin fabric of Daryl’s shirt. One of Daryl’s legs slips between Rick’s as he shuffles in close. All Rick can think, as he experimentally rubs a thumb over Daryl’s nipple and feels it stiffen in response, is yes. 

The air in the room is growing hot and heavy with anticipation. Daryl is moving again, sliding onto his back and tugging Rick on top of him without breaking the kiss. Rick’s hands move cautiously to the buttons of Daryl’s shirt. Daryl lets them. His fingers creep under Rick’s t-shirt, stroking through the soft hair on his navel. Rick lets out a sigh of pleasure and rocks his hips down. Daryl chuckles lowly and slides his hand higher, dipping his thumb into Rick’s bellybutton. 

“Never had you pegged as the teasing kind,” Rick complains jokingly. 

“Always had you pegged as the impatient kind,” Daryl replies, leaning down for a kiss. 

Rick tangles his hands in Daryl’s hair and deepens the kiss. He lets his weight drop slightly, bringing their hips into contact. They both groan as Rick’s denim-clad erection drags across Daryl’s for the first time. Daryl’s shirt is hanging open. Rick’s is pushed up to his armpits. Rick sits back on his heels and yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor where it is joined seconds later by Daryl’s. For a long moment, all they do is look at each other. Neither of them could be considered pretty by any normal standards. Both of their chests are littered with scars and scrapes and bruises. There is beauty in that though, Rick thinks, in wearing the marks of survival on their skin. Daryl certainly seems to think so, judging by the way he licks his lips and stares up at Rick with desire-darkened eyes. 

He might have joked about Rick’s impatience only moments ago, but it is Daryl who makes the first move now. He runs his hand reverently down the centre of Rick’s chest, fingers splayed wide. Rick grinds his hips down slowly, revelling in the resulting friction. Carefully, he lowers himself down, bracing himself on one elbow. He trails his fingers along Daryl’s collarbone and leans in for another kiss. Daryl’s other hand falls to Rick’s thigh, squeezing tightly in a silent question. Rick gives his answer by tilting his hips in such a way that Daryl’s hand can’t help but slide higher. It ghosts over the bulge in Rick’s jeans and Daryl swallows loud enough for Rick to hear him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, repeating the motion but increasing the pressure this time. 

“Yeah,” Rick sighs eagerly. 

Daryl curls his fingers to cup Rick through his jeans. His eyes are wide, his jaw slack. Rick buries his face in Daryl’s neck and sucks an encouraging mark into the tanned skin he finds there. Daryl doesn’t need to be told twice. He quickly gets Rick’s zipper undone and sets about pulling the jeans down over Rick’s hips. Rick sits up to help, his growing desire to feel all of Daryl’s bare skin against his outweighing his reluctance to remove his lips from Daryl’s skin. 

“Yours too,” Rick insists. “Don’t wanna have to stop again.” 

Daryl nods, his fingers scrambling with his belt. 

If Rick were going to have a freak out about any of this, now would be the time to do it. Because he can feel Daryl’s hard cock throbbing against his thigh, can feel the moisture leaking from its tip leaving sticky trails on his skin. He doesn’t feel like freaking out though. He feels like getting his hands on every bit of Daryl he can reach, and having Daryl touch him everywhere in return. Daryl has a determined look in his eyes though, one that plainly says that he won’t allow Rick’s hands anywhere near him until he has made sure that Rick is satisfied. On this occasion – and only on this occasion – Rick doesn’t fight him. 

Rick sucks in a shaky breath as Daryl purposefully licks his palm. When Daryl’s fingers wrap around him, Rick has to bite down hard on his lip to muffle the moan that is begging to escape. Through the sudden waves of pleasure, he is dimly aware that Daryl appears to be doing the same thing. Daryl’s forehead is creased in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth. He looks _adorable_ , which is almost laughable given their current situation. 

Laughter is the last thing on his mind, however, when Daryl rubs the pad of his callused thumb over the head of Rick’s cock. With his free hand, Daryl pulls Rick into a hungry kiss that is exactly the right kind of wet. Daryl’s hand is firm, but he’s clearly in no rush. He’s also clearly very good at this. The subtle changes in pressure, the way he alternates between stroking Rick and running his fingers over the sensitive skin of Rick’s inner thigh, the way his kisses shift to match the movements of his hand…all of these things suggest that Daryl knows exactly what he’s doing. That he knows how to give pleasure and not just relief. The realisation surprises Rick, but he has neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on it at present. 

“Daryl,” Rick groans, no longer able to restrain himself from thrusting down into the welcoming circle of Daryl’s fist. 

Daryl’s lips slide along Rick’s jaw and up to his ear. “I know,” he says, nuzzling Rick’s ear before catching the lobe between his teeth. 

That’s all it takes to tip Rick over the edge. He arches his back and murmurs Daryl’s name like a mantra as he spills over Daryl’s hand. Feeling more than a little dazed, Rick stares down at Daryl with a mixture of lust and wonder. He watches as Daryl wraps the hand still covered in Rick’s release around his own cock. It is unexpected and filthy and quite possibly the most erotic thing Rick has ever seen. His insides burn with wanting to know what Daryl looks like when he comes. Not just what he looks like, but what he _feels_ like. 

Gently, he bats Daryl’s hand away and replaces it with his. A shudder rolls through Daryl’s body. On the rare but ever increasing occasions that Rick has contemplated touching Daryl like this, he had assumed his experience with masturbation would be enough to get him through. It quickly becomes apparent that that is not the case at all. The difference in angle presents a far greater problem than he had anticipated. He is clumsy, and he knows it. Daryl doesn’t seem to mind though. His chest is heaving, and his mouth hangs open as he stares up at Rick. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his upper body. 

There is a certain thrill in knowing that his presence and willing participation, however clumsy, is enough to put Daryl in such a wanton state. Enough is unacceptable though. Rick doesn’t want to be enough. He wants to be good. He wants to be the best Daryl has ever had. 

Redoubling his efforts, Rick traces his index finger over the vein that pulses along the right side of Daryl’s cock. The softest of sighs falls from Daryl’s lips. It seems he is every bit as quiet in bed as he is out of it. That doesn’t bother Rick. Words have always been an optional extra with them. He repeats the motion, but this time he leans down and nips at Daryl’s neck as he does so. He tastes salt and heat and _man_. Up this close, he can hear the need in Daryl’s quiet exhalations. He resumes his stroking, setting a determined pace now. 

Daryl fists his hands in Rick’s hair and presses their lips together in a searing kiss. It doesn’t take an expert to realise that he’s getting close. All it takes is a couple of well-timed strokes and then Daryl is tearing his lips from Rick’s and coming with a muttered curse. It is even more beautiful than Rick had imagined. 

“That was fucking amazing,” Rick pronounces. 

Daryl chuckles, but he doesn’t disagree with Rick’s assessment. He tilts his head to invite another kiss, mellow and slow and comfortable. If Daryl let him, Rick could happily spend the rest of the afternoon like this. Daryl doesn’t show any immediate signs of being cuddle-averse, but it isn’t long before the awareness of just how long they’ve gone without an interruption begins to register with Rick. With more self-discipline than he would previously have credited himself with, he breaks the kiss and moves back, putting his lips beyond Daryl’s reach. Daryl is smart enough not to take Rick’s retreat as rejection. 

“S’pose we oughta be glad we made it this far without bein’ interrupted,” he mutters. “Damn miracle seein’ as how some folks seem to think they can’t even take a piss without asking your permission first.” 

Rick lets out an undignified snort of laughter. “You’re a bad, bad man Daryl Dixon,” he admonishes playfully. 

“Yeah,” Daryl sighs, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk. “Reckon you kinda like me anyway.” 

“I reckon I do too,” Rick murmurs, leaning down to steal one last kiss before forcing himself off the bed and onto his feet. He grabs an old shirt and gives himself a cursory wipe down. 

Daryl is not far behind him, tossing Rick his jeans before pulling on his own. They don’t speak again, but the silence is a pleasant, companionable one. If he is anything like Rick, Daryl’s thoughts are on facing the group again without letting them know that anything has changed between them. Despite his best efforts, Daryl can be surprisingly easy to read sometimes. He is probably terrified that Carol will take one look at him and know exactly how he spent his afternoon. 

“I’ll go down first,” Rick offers. “Why don’t you take a shower and join us later?”

It is a wise suggestion for several reasons, chief among them being the fact that sitting down to dinner with dried come on his thighs does not sound like Daryl’s idea of a good time. He nods as he moves to leave Rick’s cell. 

“Hey Daryl,” Rick calls softly, doing up the last button of his shirt. “Don’t stay away too long.”

Daryl is pretty sure he couldn’t even if he tried.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

There were always going to be repercussions. You can’t willingly make a man come after spending most of your life believing you were 100 percent straight without it resulting in some serious self-examination. As comfortable as Rick is with the development of their relationship, he had been expecting their first real attempt at anything physical to leave him feeling more than a little odd, maybe even embarrassed. He had been expecting to worry about the consequences, for himself, for Daryl and the two of them as…whatever they are now. He had not been expecting to have to address those worries so soon. 

He figured their journey into intimacy would be a slow, one step forward, two steps backward sort of thing. That has certainly been the pattern for their relationship so far, and he has no complaints about where it has led them. He had been fine with the prospect of waiting months before Daryl was ready. It never once occurred to him that Daryl might be ready now. Not just ready, but eager and experienced and ridiculously good with his hands. If Rick were alone, he could probably get hard just remembering how good Daryl’s hands had felt. Instead, he finds himself glaring balefully at a row of ripening zucchini and wondering who exactly it was that taught Daryl how to do that thing with his tongue. 

He has always found jealousy to be particularly irritating and useless emotion. Unfortunately, that has never stopped him from feeling it occasionally. It has been a while since it made him feel this disgusted with himself though. He is living through a fucking apocalypse. The quantity and quality of Daryl’s previous sexual partners ought to be the least of his worries. He ought to be mature enough to brush aside his jealousy and move on. But underneath the jealousy lies the cold, ugly and sadly familiar sting of betrayal. He thought he knew what he was getting himself into. He thought he knew _Daryl_. 

He knows he isn’t being fair. It isn’t Daryl’s fault that there is evidently far more to his history than Rick had previously assumed. It is not as though Daryl has lied about anything. On the night of their first kiss, he told Rick that he hadn’t done anything like that in a while. Rick is the one who interpreted that as Daryl having never known tenderness in a lover. Awkward. Inexperienced. Hesitant. _Closeted_. Rick is the one who attributed those terms to Daryl. Daryl has remained staunchly silent on the subject. Rick is the one who interpreted that as proof that there simply wasn’t much to say. 

He ought to be glad. If he has been wrong about Daryl, then maybe the miserable, loveless life he ascribed to him is wrong too. Maybe there were good times. Maybe Merle wasn’t always the only one who cared about him. Maybe he has known moments of happiness, love and affection. He can’t begrudge Daryl that. Not when Daryl has to look every day at proof that, no matter what happens between them, he will never be Rick’s one and only love. He just wishes Daryl had told him. 

And that he could stop imagining him with someone else. Kissing someone else. Running his hands over someone else’s bare skin. Waking up in someone else’s bed. Luckily, Carl and Patrick arrive before Rick’s little pity party can truly kick off. Which is just as well, given how much work they have to do. There are new seeds to sow and plants to fertilise. Patrick is keen to learn how to prune things correctly to encourage future growth. The steady stream of questions and chatter is a welcome distraction that keeps Rick’s mind focused on the present. 

The moment he sees Daryl enter the lounge, however, the images come flooding back to him in vivid detail. He turns away, drawing Simon into a lengthy conversation about his time playing college basketball. Daryl’s eyes rarely leave him for the rest of the night. Rick can feel them on him, can feel the confusion and hurt within them. He winds up feeling so physically ill that he goes to bed without dinner. 

His earlier jealousy has morphed into something even more unpleasant now – the fear that, after wanting Rick for so long, Daryl might find actually being with him to be something of a letdown. Rick’s limited sexual history is satisfying but not particularly exciting. For all Rick knows, Daryl is used to the kind of wild, sensual sex Rick has only ever known in his dreams. For all he knows, what had been one of the most intensely pleasurable encounters Rick has ever had was, for Daryl, boring and uninspiring. 

“You gonna ask me or what?” Daryl demands a few days later. 

They are sat together in the warmth of the sun. Their work for the day is completed. Judith is crawling on the grass between them, pulling at blades of grass. Some of the kids – and Glenn – are kicking a soccer ball around. It would be quite a pleasant afternoon if Rick could just relax. He is still finding it difficult to look Daryl in the eye, but he has at least stopped trying to avoid looking at him entirely. If anything, he is looking at him more than ever. He steals glances out of the corner of his eye whenever he gets the chance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the passion he now knows lies beneath the surface of Daryl’s studied nonchalance. 

“Ask you what?” Rick queries evasively. 

“Whatever you’ve been wonderin’ that’s got ya starin’ at me like some fancy ass painting you can’t figure out.”

Rick sighs. It comes as no surprise to him that Daryl has noticed that something is up. Frankly he’s surprised it has taken Daryl this long to ask him about it. There is a small part of him that is tempted to fob Daryl off with an excuse. Daryl probably wouldn’t buy it, but he probably wouldn’t call Rick on it either. But that is not the kind of relationship he wants for them. 

“You like this,” he observes, easing his way into the conversation. 

Daryl looks confused. 

“Spending time together. Being in a relationship. Sex.” 

“There some reason I shouldn’t like that?”

“Of course not. I’m just surprised at how easy you’re finding it. I thought all of this would be new to you.” 

Daryl narrows his eyes. “Couldn’t imagine anyone but you bein’ dumb enough to wanna be with me huh?” The angry line of his mouth is at complete odds with the gentle way he clasps Judith’s tiny hands in his and helps her to her feet. 

“No,” Rick says quickly. “Daryl…no. That’s not what I meant at all. You just never seemed like you were interested. Not in men. Not in women. Some people aren’t, you know. And that’s okay. For a long time, I thought you might be one of them. But the way you were the other day has me thinking I might have got it all wrong.” 

“Does it matter?”

Rick’s silence lasts a fraction too long. 

“First you were worried you’d shacked up with a virgin and now you’re worried you’ve ended up with a slut, is that it?” Daryl hisses. The twisting of words, whether accidental or wilful, is easily the thing Rick hates most about fighting with people. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rick says firmly. “At least, not in the way you’re thinking. I don’t care if you’ve had five partners before me or fifty. I wouldn’t have cared if you’d had zero. But surely you can see how confusing this is for me?”

“Ain’t my fault you been goin’ around with expectations I couldn’t live up to,” Daryl says defensively. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Rick groans. He is usually more careful with his language around Judith, but he is too frustrated to pay it much mind today. “ _I’m_ the one who should be worried about not living up to expectations. That’s what I’ve been wondering about. I thought we were both coming at this with no fucking clue what we were doing. I thought we could figure it out together. But you’ve already been there and done it, and now I can’t stop thinking about how disappointing I must be compared to…”

“To everyone I’ve been with before?”

Put like that, it sounds incredibly pathetic. Rick wouldn’t blame Daryl for laughing at him right now. But Daryl doesn’t laugh. He goes silent for a long time though, as he pulls Judith into his lap and settles her back against his chest. 

“The first couple of times I had sex I hated it,” he says eventually. “One of Merle’s friends had a sister about a year older than me. We used to drink together sometimes. She was desperate to lose her virginity and me…I was there, I guess. Ain’t much more to it than that. It weren’t all that good, but I figured that was cause we’d both been drinking. We tried again a few times, but it never got any better.” 

Rick hums in understanding. His first couple of sexual encounters had been rather less than stellar also, and they had been with someone he loved. 

“It was another friend of Merle’s that made me realise,” Daryl continues. “I still don’t know how he figured it out, but he cornered me at one of Merle’s parties. Dragged me into the bathroom. Showed me why it never felt right before. Showed me that it was okay to want it.”

“You never thought to look for him, you and Merle?” Rick asks, forcing the words out from his suddenly too dry throat. 

Daryl shakes his head. “Fucker was long gone before any of this shit started goin’ down. Drank himself to death one New Year’s Eve. Said he couldn’t stand bein’ what he were no more. I ain’t touched no one since.” 

The phrase _ignorance is bliss_ has never seemed so apt. Why couldn’t he just let it be? “I’m sorry about your friend,” Rick says sincerely. 

Daryl accepts the sentiment with a sharp nod. “We weren’t friends. Not really,” he says softly, his gaze flicking briefly down to the top of Judith’s head before returning to Rick. “It weren’t like this. I ain’t ever known nothing like this.” 

“Neither have I,” Rick replies truthfully. 

Despite Daryl’s revelation, Rick can’t help feeling pleased with the outcome of their conversation. Not only had he received his longed-for explanation, but it came with the added bonus of Daryl admitting that what they have is special. 

His satisfaction is short-lived. In the days that follow Daryl becomes increasingly distant and distracted. Even when they are sat next to each other, Rick can tell that Daryl’s mind is somewhere else. His default expression is that of a man at war with himself. His eyebrows appear permanently knitted together. Belatedly, Rick realises that he might genuinely have offended the other man. It is too late to apologise, so he does the next best thing: he gives him space to work things out in his own time. Even so, it was only a matter of time before whatever is bothering him became too much to contain.

*

Rick glances up and frowns as he catches sight of Daryl making his way across the yard. There is something decidedly off about his gait. Rick’s stomach sinks. He is getting close now, close enough for Rick to see the determined look on his face. Anticipating a confrontation, Rick sets his shovel down and pulls off his gloves, tucking them in his back pocket.

Daryl’s fingers close around Rick’s arm, digging in almost painfully as he drags him around the corner and out of sight of anyone else in the yard. Rick opens his mouth to demand an explanation, but Daryl’s lips are on his before he has a chance to form the words. As confused as Rick’s brain is, his body knows exactly how to respond. He wraps his arms around Daryl’s waist, pulling him closer. Daryl’s hands clasp Rick’s cheeks, tilting Rick’s head back until he has him exactly where he wants him. His tongue sweeps through Rick’s mouth. There is a hunger to Daryl’s kiss that Rick hasn’t felt before, one that he wholeheartedly approves of. He breaks the kiss with every intention of telling Daryl so, but he is beaten to it once again. 

“Fuck,” Daryl growls into Rick’s ear. “Been thinkin’ about ya all fuckin’ mornin’. ‘bout how good it felt to get my hands on ya at last. Wanna do it again. My mouth too if you’ll let me.” 

Rick lets out a strangled gasp. Daryl immediately steps back and breaks all contact between them. 

“Fuck,” he says again. It sounds completely different this time. He takes a few steps back, sucking in a series of shaky breaths. His eyes are wide, his cheeks unusually devoid of colour. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.” He retreats further. 

Rick is too dazed from Daryl’s unexpected outburst to react as quickly as he normally would. By the time he does so, it is too late. Daryl is already a few metres away when Rick calls out to him. Daryl doesn’t respond. In fact, he turns around and breaks into a run, heading back inside without a backward glance.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Like many boys, one of Rick’s earliest memories of his father is of watching him shave. He would often wake early on a Sunday morning and stand next to him in their narrow bathroom, pressing the back of a toothbrush to his cheek and mimicking his father’s movements. He was meticulous about the process. No one would accuse him of being a vain man, but his bathroom shelf was full of carefully ordered gels and creams and oils. He always said that if you want to do something right you need to start with the right equipment, and shaving was no exception. The Grimes men had a long and proud tradition of shaving with a straight razor, one that Rick couldn’t wait to carry on. From a young age, Rick remembers being captivated by the flash of steel as it sliced through richly scented white foam, by precision and method and danger. He is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know what that says about him. 

Despite his obvious and persistent interest, Rick never questioned it when his father taught him to shave with a disposable Gillette razor and a can of shaving cream from the supermarket. He winced but did not complain at the scrape of the blade over his acne-riddled skin. He seethed in silence at the rashes and the nicks and the chemical burn of cheap aftershave. He tolerated it because he knew he wasn’t ready. He knew he had to earn it. 

On his 21st birthday, Rick’s gift from his parents came in a sleek black leather case. He knew without opening it that his time had finally come. He can still recall the anticipation he had felt as he drew back the zipper. Inside, on a lining of black velvet, sat the most beautiful razor Rick had ever seen. He fell instantly in love with its mother-of-pearl handle and shiny square point steel. To this day, it remains the most beautiful thing he has ever owned. 

It was more difficult than he let on, not being able to shave while they were on the run. Being clean-shaven was an integral part of who he was. And even after he accepted that he couldn’t be that man anymore – that he didn’t particularly _want_ to be that man anymore – he still missed it. It was the routine, more than anything. He was never the kind of man to spend a great amount of effort on his appearance unless a special occasion required it, but he always took his time shaving. It was one of the only times he allowed himself to be completely self-absorbed. 

The water at the prison is nowhere near hot enough. A small red rag serves as his towel. The razor he picked up in one of the houses they raided a couple of weeks ago is old and starting to rust. Shaving cream is a thing of the past, but they currently have enough soap for him to not feel like it is an obscene waste for him to use it as a substitute. Rick is more than happy to make do. The fact that he can do this at all is a luxury he never thought he’d have the pleasure of experiencing again. 

He sweeps the black-handled razor down the flat of his cheeks in one smooth, even stroke before rinsing it in a chipped mug of water. On the second pass, he tilts his head, following his jaw line and down his neck. He is relaxing into it now, moving the blade with careful precision over his throat. The silence is comfortable, and the concentration required to ensure he doesn’t injure himself means that, for once, his mind is blank. There is something soothing about watching the soap from the razor swirling around the mug. He stirs for a little longer than necessary, fascinated by the changing colour of the water. When he looks back up at the mirror, he is no longer alone. 

Daryl shaves with a blade too. Rick has never seen it up close. They have always taken care to give each other space, understanding implicitly that they both enjoyed the rare moments of solitude that shaving allowed. Knowing Daryl, it is probably the same blade he uses to gut squirrels and end walkers. Rick always thought of old school shaving as having a certain romance about it. It made him think of black and white movies and the striped poles of barbershops. Of good manners and gentlemen and luxury. Imagining Daryl dragging a hunting knife over a face that is never quite completely clean conjures up entirely different associations. Now he thinks of self-reliance and resourcefulness and masculinity and _power_. There is something about knowing that the hands that can be so gentle with Judith can also inflict incredible damage that makes Rick’s stomach lurch pleasantly. 

The sweatpants Rick is wearing are slightly too big for him. They hang low on his hips and the hem curls underneath the bottom of his heel. Daryl’s eyes drift briefly down to where Rick’s hipbone juts out from the blue fabric before snapping back up. Their eyes meet in the mirror as Rick brings the blade up to start the other side of his face. Daryl shows no sign of moving – either further into the room or out of it – so Rick proceeds as though he were not there at all. It isn’t easy, not when he can sense Daryl’s eyes following his every move. They haven’t spoken since the incident in the yard earlier in the day. Frankly Rick is surprised Daryl didn’t turn right around the moment he saw Rick. He figured he had at least three days of being ignored before Daryl decided to face up to whatever had freaked him out. 

Rick dips his rag into the sink and wrings it out. He brings it to his face, inhaling deeply as he pats his cheeks. His skin is wonderfully smooth now. When he pushes his fingers up against the grain, there is no hint of the sandpaper effect that will reappear in a few hours. Rick does what he can to clean the razor – who knows if he will ever be lucky enough to stumble upon another one. Daryl is still there. Still silent. Still watching. 

He waits until Rick is all packed up and ready to leave before finally speaking. “Hey,” he says nervously. 

“Oh,” Rick says, feigning shock, “are we speaking again now?”

Daryl hangs his head, clearly ashamed of his behaviour. Rick is looking at him properly now, without a dirty, scratched mirror distorting his features. He looks as about miserable as Rick has ever seen him. He almost moves to comfort him, but the burn of rejection lingers enough to stop him. For once, he is not the one who owes the apology. 

“’m sorry,” Daryl says quietly. “I shouldn’ta run off like that.” 

“No,” Rick states coolly. “You shouldn’t have.” 

Daryl bites his lip and nods slowly. “You ain’t done this before,” he says cautiously. “I’ve been tryin’ to respect that. Tryin’ not to scare ya. Then I went and fucked it all up.”

“Scare me?” Rick asks, confused. 

“When I said…what I said,” Daryl explains awkwardly. “You gasped.”

To Daryl’s surprise and consternation, Rick begins to laugh. 

“It ain’t fuckin’ funny,” Daryl snaps. 

“I’m sorry,” Rick says half-heartedly. “The thing is, I didn’t gasp because I was scared. I gasped because I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.” 

“Oh,” Daryl stammers, trying and failing to keep a pleased smile from stealing across his face. “You really didn’t mind…” he trails off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. 

“I _really_ didn’t mind,” Rick states. He is still angry with Daryl for getting him all worked up and then leaving him hanging. He is still worried that Daryl would rather run away than face any problems they might have together. But he is also very, very turned on. 

“Never had you down as the type,” Daryl observes. His eyes are wary. He doesn’t quite believe. 

“Never was before,” Rick admits. He sets his shaving supplies down on the floor and takes a tentative step towards Daryl. “Reckon I might be with you though.”

This time, Daryl doesn’t bother trying to hide how pleased the comment makes him. “We good then?”

“We’re good,” Rick confirms. He holds his arms out to Daryl, who steps willingly into the embrace. He licks his lips in anticipation of the kiss he hopes is coming. “Just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, looping his arms around Daryl’s neck, “I absolutely do not mind hearing how much you enjoy what we do together.” 

“Right,” Daryl mutters, blushing even as he smiles softly. “You…you too.”

And just like that, it’s fine. 

“Noted,” Rick replies, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Now, I believe you mentioned something about your mouth?”

Daryl hums thoughtfully. “Might have. You want it now?”

The ease with which he makes the offering is the sexiest thing Rick has ever heard. His sweatpants are suddenly far too tight. “Yeah,” he exhales shakily. “I want it.” 

Daryl nods sharply, the darkness of his eyes betraying just how much he wants it too. “Not here,” he says lowly. “Don’t wanna have to worry about anyone comin’ in and findin’ us. Don’t wanna have to worry about anythin’ ‘cept makin’ you feel good.”

_Christ_ , Rick thinks. They’ve barely gotten started and already he is convinced that Daryl Dixon is going to be the death of him. All things considered, it is not a bad way to go. “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” he says lightly. 

Daryl smiles enigmatically and reaches out a hand to tug Rick closer by his waistband. He leans in close for a quick kiss, all tongues and gentle nips and wordless promises. Rick groans into the embrace. They both wince as the sound bounces off the tiles. 

“Come on,” Daryl says, stepping determinedly away from Rick. “I know where we can go.” 

That place turns out to be a room near one of the large storerooms they’ve been using for clothes and blankets. It is tiny, dark, and not particularly useful for anything apart from early morning entanglements. Rick slips inside after Daryl, his hands already trembling with anticipation. Daryl is going to suck him off. That is a foregone conclusion at this point. Daryl is going to get on his knees and put his mouth on Rick’s bare skin. On his _cock_. Because he wants to. It is a miracle that Rick hasn’t already come in his pants just from the thought. 

Daryl’s hands are in Rick’s hair the moment the door shuts behind them. Rick’s hands cup Daryl’s cheeks. “Rick,” Daryl sighs. 

“Daryl,” Rick replies, brushing a sweet kiss over Daryl’s lips. 

That is all the reassurance Daryl needs. His quick fingers undo the drawstring of Rick’s pants, and they fall down of their own accord, bunching around Rick’s ankles and exposing him to the chilly morning air. He is not cold for long though. A warm hand wraps around his cock and seconds later Daryl’s lips attach themselves to his neck. 

“Oh fuck,” Rick groans, letting his head drop back against the wall as Daryl’s thumb brushes over the head of his cock. 

“Feels so good,” Daryl mutters as he sinks to his knees. “Bet ya taste good too.” 

Rick doesn’t think twice before responding. “Only one way to find out,” he urges, winding his hands into Daryl’s hair encouragingly. 

Daryl – the bastard – just lifts his eyes to Rick’s, smirks, and then flicks his tongue out to catch the bead of liquid pooling at the tip of Rick’s cock. Rick finds it a struggle not to thrust straight into the hot wetness of Daryl’s mouth. Thankfully, his patience is soon rewarded, and Daryl seals his mouth over the first couple of inches of Rick’s cock and sucks eagerly. 

The enthusiasm with which Daryl takes to his task makes Rick want to weep with joy. He had no idea one man could find going down on another so pleasurable. Daryl clearly is though. Rick’s not sure when he managed to get his jeans undone, but he’s jerking himself steadily, and he keeps pulling back to release little breathy moans that send burst of warm air skidding over Rick’s cock. 

“You’re incredible,” Rick gasps. He doesn’t care how utterly awestruck he sounds. He doesn’t care that he can hear the desperation in his voice. Daryl said he wanted to hear him, and Rick’s not about to let him down now. “Your mouth…fuck, Daryl…so fucking good.” 

Daryl is sucking more enthusiastically than ever now, varying the pressure every once in a while to keep Rick hovering right on the edge. Rick is becoming increasingly aware of three things: (1) he is currently receiving the absolute best blowjob of his life, (2) he can’t wait to repay the favour, though he is certain his skills will prove far less impressive than Daryl’s, and (3) he is seconds away from coming down Daryl’s throat, which even his limited experience tells him would be grossly impolite. 

“Daryl,” he mutters, tugging on Daryl’s hair in warning, “I…”

Daryl pulls off just long enough to reply, “I know. ’m ready for it.” 

That, coupled with the way Daryl’s fingers are digging into Rick’s thighs, is enough to push him over the edge. He comes with a loud moan. Daryl swallows every last drop and continues to lap at him as he softens. Rick gives himself a few seconds to recover before dropping to his knees and trying to push Daryl onto his back so he can reciprocate. 

“Just your hand,” Daryl insists, shaking his head. 

Rick opens his mouth to protest, but Daryl presses two fingers to Rick’s lips to silence him. 

“I’m already about ten seconds away from comin’,” Daryl replies, running his fingers over Rick’s bottom lip. “First time you put your mouth on me I wanna have time to enjoy it.” 

Rick nods. “Okay. Okay. Just my hand.” 

Daryl wasn’t kidding. Four firm strokes of Rick’s hand and he’s spilling into Rick’s palm, his teeth nipping at the lobe of Rick’s ear. 

“Wow,” Rick sighs, shifting back so he can sit with his back against the wall. 

Daryl’s eyes are over-bright. His skin is flushed and glistening. Rick imagines he looks much the same way. There is no way they can leave the room until they’ve had some time to calm down, not unless they want anyone who sees them to know what they’ve been doing. He says as much to Daryl, who shrugs and pulls Rick into a leisurely kiss. It is somewhat counterproductive to the whole cooling down idea, but Rick really doesn’t give a fuck.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final sentence of this chapter is inspired by Elbow's One Day Like This, a song I adore beyond all measure.

In the first couple of weeks after securing the prison, Daryl was the only one who left it. He slipped out before dawn and would return soon after with some form of meat for them to cook up. The rest of their meals came from the prison’s existing stores. They all knew it couldn’t last. Carol and Hershel went through the stock and made up a list of items they might conceivably find. Daryl and Glenn volunteered to make the first trip. The farmhouse they raided that day was not far from the prison. It took them four hours, and those who were left behind felt every minute of it. The relief when the truck returned and both men climbed – uninjured – out of it was tangible. The fact that they had returned with some of what they needed was a bonus. 

That trip established standard operating procedures. They stayed close, focussing their early efforts on nearby farms. They were often disappointed. Many of the items on the list remained elusive. But all those who went out returned safely. That is the best kind of victory as far as Rick is concerned. Simon was the one who suggested, after returning from his very first run, that they consider venturing further afield, and for greater periods, while the weather was still fine. No one was keen on the idea of anyone spending the night away from the safety of the prison’s walls, but they could all admit that the idea had merit. Cold and rain and snow might slow the walkers down, but it also increased the chances of people getting stuck somewhere. 

As before, Glenn and Daryl were the first to volunteer. Simon insisted on accompanying them, as he’d been the one to suggest it in the first place. Rick paced the dining room the entire night, Judith sleeping peacefully in his arms. Her softness and warmth were a much-needed anchor for the fear that wound its way around his heart. That was where Daryl had found him, an hour earlier than Rick had been expecting them back, but very much whole and alive and home. The results of their trip spoke for themselves. The extra time enabled them to be far more methodical about their search. Rather than sweeping through the house grabbing everything they saw and leaving as soon as their bags were full, they reviewed the entire house’s contents and prioritised what they found. They hid the items they couldn’t take in places that other groups would be unlikely to look. 

Gradually, it got easier, both to leave the prison and to watch a group go. Safe return became the expectation rather than a fervent hope. Items began to be crossed off the list. Rick knew it was too much to hope for that they would find enough to hunker down completely over winter, but every little bit helped. And they have found more than a bit. Compared to what they had become used to, their pantry is now an embarrassment of riches. They have medicine and blankets and clothes and books and batteries. They’ve started adding things they _want_ to the least, not just things they need. 

Regular teams soon established themselves. Jack and Simon were a perfect fit together, as were Glenn and Maggie and Rick and Daryl. Rick insisted that people change it up occasionally though, not wanting anyone to become too used to a specific person backing them up all the time. It is an attitude he is starting to regret, given how difficult it has been recently to get Daryl on his own for any length of time. If Rick is free, Daryl is away on a hunt or showing someone how to skin and gut a kill. If Daryl is free, Rick is on watch or tending the garden or spending time with his children. If they are both free, there is a council meeting to attend or fences to repair. Unfortunately, there isn’t much either of them can do about the situation without running the risk of arousing the suspicion of their friends. 

When Glenn wakes up with a fever the day before he is due to head out on an overnighter with Daryl, Rick is torn between concern and excitement. Maggie and Hershel both give him grateful looks when he volunteers to go with Daryl instead, and Carl and Patrick assure him that they have the garden under control. He doesn’t trust himself to look at Daryl for his reaction. 

He would never it admit to anyone, but the following morning Rick dresses with more care than he has done in months. He doesn’t have much to choose from, so he makes the most of what he does have: a pair of jeans that fit him like a second skin, a t-shirt that is at least one size too small and a long-sleeved plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He knows he has hit the mark when he bumps into Daryl on his way down to breakfast. Daryl’s eyes sweep appreciatively over Rick from top to bottom. 

“Shit,” Daryl murmurs, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Ya look good. Feel underdressed now.”

Rick’s grin turns feral. “If anything I reckon you’re _over_ dressed.” 

Daryl is dressed all in black – black boots, black jeans, black shirt and his beloved black leather vest. His clothes are considerably baggier than Rick’s, but Rick doesn’t mind because he knows what lies beneath. His fingers twitch instinctively at the prospect of getting to touch Daryl again. Not just touch, if Rick has anything to say about it. Tonight he’s going to _taste_. He is going to find out if Daryl’s blush tastes the same on his inner thigh as it does in the hollow of his throat. 

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and we ain’t gonna make it more than half a mile,” Daryl grumbles.

“That a promise?” Rick teases. 

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Keep it in your pants til we’ve done what we set out to do, and then I’m all yours Grimes.”

“Please tell me _that’s_ a promise.” 

“Only one way to find out,” Daryl replies, flashing Rick a wry smile as he edges past him and down the stairs. 

The day passes quickly, despite Rick’s growing anticipation of what the night has in store. They drive for the best part of three hours, passing abandoned cars and bits of walkers and homesteads they’ve already cleared out. They eventually settle on a large red farmhouse, off to the left of them in the middle distance. The car they leave half a mile up the road, opting to make their way through the fields surrounding the house on foot. The fences are in surprisingly good condition. Rick hopes that is because the house is long abandoned, and not because it is currently occupied by people who have a vested interest in keeping people out. Daryl pulls out the bolt cutters and peels back the fence for Rick to climb through. 

They make it through the fields without incident, which only heightens Rick’s wariness. On the porch, they peer through grimy windows to catch a glimpse of anything that might be lurking inside. Daryl picks the lock and cautiously steps over the threshold. Rick is right behind him, his gun drawn and his eyes darting everywhere for any sign of danger. It is quiet and dusty and the smell of must and decay hangs in the air. 

“I’ll go up,” Daryl whispers. 

Rick nods sharply and steps into the kitchen to begin a sweep of the ground floor. 

Everything happens pretty smoothly after that. The house, thankfully, is empty of people and walkers alike. It is clear that whoever left it did so in a hurry, grabbing only the essentials for what they probably assumed was going to be a temporary leave of absence. Their optimism is Rick and Daryl’s gain. The kitchen pantry is full of pickled vegetables and jars of instant coffee and all manner of useful things. There are towels and blankets and pillows in a linen cupboard in the narrow hallway. Daryl emerges from the attic with a box of baby clothes in his arms, and Rick grins so wide he is worried his face will crack. It is the best haul they’ve found in months. 

Daryl remains on guard, unable and perhaps even unwilling to believe they could get this lucky. The way Rick sees it, they deserve the occasional piece of luck to make up for all the other shit they have had to go through. Daryl eventually relents, when they’ve feasted on curried beans and rice and enjoyed the luxury of a long shower, and he’s done one last thorough sweep of the entire house. Then, and only then, does he make good on his promise. 

Rick emerges from the upstairs bathroom to find Daryl leaning against the door that leads to the spacious master bedroom. He probably doesn’t realise it, but he looks like he’s walked straight out of one of Rick’s fantasies. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

“Hey,” Daryl replies. 

Feeling bold, and a little bit playful, Rick gestures towards his crotch. “Still in my pants,” he announces. 

“So I see,” Daryl replies dryly. 

Rick stalks towards Daryl, watching closely to make sure he hasn’t judged the mood incorrectly. As soon as he is able, Daryl reaches out and tugs Rick close by his belt loops. 

“Been thinking about this all day,” he admits, his lips lightly brushing Rick’s as he speaks. 

Rick presses their lips together in lieu of a verbal response. Daryl’s hands wrap tight around Rick’s waist, drawing him in. Despite having all night, and very little chance of being interrupted, it is an urgent, hungry kiss. 

“You really gonna let me do this?” Rick asks, speaking the words against Daryl’s throat before sucking at the pulse that beats there. 

“You really wanna do this?”

“Yeah,” Rick replies surely. “Fuck yeah.” 

Together, they stumble into the bedroom and onto the bed, falling in a tangle of lips and tongues and hands. Daryl rolls onto his back and shuffles back to settle against the headboard. Rick tugs eagerly at Daryl’s jeans, working them down over his hips and knees. As usual, Daryl isn’t wearing any underwear. Rick never imagined that another man’s cock could be an object of beauty, but when he glances up and sees Daryl, hard and thick and leaking, _beautiful_ is the first word that comes to mind. 

He whispers it against Daryl’s ankle and then his knee and then the curve of his hip. Coming face to face with Daryl’s cock is not nearly as intimidating as Rick imagined it would be. He doesn’t think twice before leaning over and touching his tongue to the tip. A deep, guttural groan escapes Daryl’s lips as he winds his hands through Rick’s hair. The pressure is strangely comforting. Rick is too overcome with the taste of Daryl on his tongue to give much thought to his technique beyond _no teeth_ , but Daryl doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Rick,” he groans brokenly, his chest heaving as he sits up on his elbows to watch. 

It is a thrill and a privilege, seeing Daryl coming undone like this. His expression when he looks down at Rick is completely unguarded. He is making the most wonderful, desperate little noises, noises Rick never imagined Daryl Dixon would be capable of making. Rick thinks he could probably make him beg if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to. Not tonight. Tonight he just wants to give Daryl exactly what he wants. He wants to give Daryl things he wouldn’t dream of asking for. He wants to give Daryl everything. 

Rick relaxes his jaw and takes more of Daryl into his mouth, concentrating on breathing through his nose. His thumbs rub small circles into Daryl’s hips. A string of expletives, interspersed with Rick’s name, falls from Daryl’s lips. 

“Close,” he warns, tugging firmly on Rick’s hair. “Fuckin’ close, Rick.” 

As much as he is enjoying himself, Rick is pretty sure he’s not ready for Daryl to come down his throat just yet – soon, he promises himself – so he pulls off and wraps a hand around Daryl. He surges up to kiss Daryl messily. It only takes a few firm strokes before Daryl is coming, hot and wet into Rick’s palm. Before can think twice about it, Rick brings his hand to his lips and takes a tentative lick. It is salty and slightly bitter but not at all unpleasant. Daryl gazes up at him, eyes blown wide, as though he can’t believe Rick is real. Rick can’t help the smug smile that slides across his face. 

“Get yer damn pants off an I’ll give you somethin’ to really smile about,” Daryl urges. 

Smile turns out to be a considerable understatement. Rick ends up coming so hard he nearly blacks out, a hand on his cock and two of Daryl’s fingers twisting inside him. 

And that’s not even the best bit. The best part is when Daryl, after cleaning them both up with one of their newly-acquired towels, slides back into bed and curls up against Rick’s side. 

They may not get days like this very often, Rick thinks as he’s drifting off to sleep, but that’s okay. He is pretty sure that one a year is enough to keep him going.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Rick is confused at first, waking up with the morning sun shining on his face, and a warm body pressed up against his back. It takes a few seconds for his still mostly asleep brain to recall the events of the previous day. They come back to him in small sensations – the sound of Daryl snoring softly behind him, an unfamiliar taste in his mouth and a dull ache where Daryl’s fingers had been. He smiles and shuffles back into Daryl’s embrace. The temperature had dropped considerably overnight, but right now Rick is toasty warm beneath the heavy quilt. One of Daryl’s forearms rests possessively in the curve of Rick’s waist. Whenever he exhales, Rick can feel his breath skating over the hair at the nape of his neck. 

The world outside is still and silent. There are no birds to sing a greeting to the morning. There are no cars rushing by or children playing in the street. There are no groaning walkers to be dispatched and burned. Rick and Daryl might as well be the only two people left on the planet. 

“Morning,” Daryl murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He drops a light kiss to the back of Rick’s neck as his fingers slide up Rick’s side and over to his chest.

Rick is still not used to how easily Daryl bestows affection whenever they are alone together. Not that he is in any way complaining. In some ways, he hopes that he never gets used to it. That twenty years from now, Rick’s pulse still jumps to meet the touch of Daryl’s lips. 

Rick hums in contentment as Daryl’s lips slide leisurely along his collarbone. He soaks up the attention for a minute or so before rolling over and drawing Daryl into a lazy kiss. There is fire there, but it is the slow burning kind. Today he wants to enjoy the closeness for its own sake, not as a means to an end, however pleasant that end might be. Daryl seems to be of the same mind. His hand continues to roam over Rick’s skin, but it never drops below his stomach. Half an hour passes that way, and then Rick’s stomach decides to remind them both of its existence by gurgling loudly. Daryl releases Rick’s bottom lip to snigger at the noise while Rick blushes furiously. They battle on valiantly, but it isn’t long before the promise of a hot breakfast and cup of coffee becomes too good to resist. 

They bring their uncharacteristic insouciance with them to the kitchen. Neither of them bothers getting fully dressed. Daryl simply pulls on the jeans he’d been wearing yesterday while Rick took the opportunity to grab a clean pair of boxes from the laundry pile. Luck has served them well so far, and Rick’s pretty sure that Daryl could fight off a herd of walkers buck naked if he had to. 

Daryl grabs two mugs from the cupboard near the sink. Rick wraps his arms around Daryl’s waist and nips at his neck. 

“You leave a mark where anyone can see it and I’ll punch you in the dick,” Daryl grumbles. 

Rick chuckles lowly and begins trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down Daryl’s spine. Daryl makes a show of trying to squirm out of Rick’s arms. 

“Quit teasin’,” he whines. He will later claim that it was a manly protest rather than a whine, but Rick knows the truth. 

“You’re no fun,” Rick says playfully, dropping to his knees and sucking a deep red mark into the base of Daryl’s spine before leaning back to admire his handiwork. 

“Seemed like I was pretty fun last night,” Daryl retorts, wiggling his fingers at Rick. 

The sight of those slender digits, and the memory of how they’d made him feel last night, makes Rick’s throat dry and his palms sweaty. “You were fun,” he replies, standing up and cupping Daryl’s cheeks in his hands. “Fuck Daryl, you were _magnificent_.” 

“Weren’t so bad yerself,” Daryl concedes, blushing. “Now make yerself useful and get some fruit stewin’.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Rick coos, brushing a quick kiss over Daryl’s lips. Daryl just rolls his eyes and shoves Rick gently towards the stove. 

That exchange sets the tone for the rest of the morning. After breakfast, they get dressed and beginning the task of packing their bags with the most valuable of their finds and a couple of little treats. It will take at least three return trips to get everything, assuming that no other group stumbles upon the house before they get the chance to return to it. They carefully restock the cupboards, trying to hide the good stuff in the hopes that any other marauders will not be as through in their searching as they were. 

The sun is shining brightly when they set off back to the car. Rick slings an arm over Daryl’s shoulder, pulling him close as they make their way down the porch steps. It is strangely therapeutic, being together like this. Rick has never been an overly demonstrative man in public, but he hadn’t realized just how much he has been holding back for fear of outing their relationship. He finds himself overthinking the kinds of casual touches he used to bestow without a second thought, wary of letting his arm linger too long and attracting someone’s attention. Daryl is similarly guarded. These days, he is more likely to sit across the table from Rick than next to him. Whether he is worried about his reaction to the proximity or Rick’s is still unclear. 

Either way, it is a relief that they seem to be on the same page in terms of keeping this thing between them quiet for now. He doesn’t think anyone would have a problem with it, with them. The Greenes might have had something to say about it, once upon a time, maybe Carol too. But they’ve all seen enough to know that in this world any moment of genuine human connection and shared affection is something to cherish and celebrate. They would be happy for them. He is sure of it. 

Rick is _not_ sure about Carl. He may have matured fast, but he is still very young in some ways. Too young to appreciate the complexities of human sexuality, that’s for sure. He will not understand how his father could end up having romantic feelings for another man. It would be unfair of Rick to expect otherwise, given how long it took _him_ to accept it. 

Now more than ever, he regrets not making more of an effort to talk to Carl after Lori’s death. He has no idea how much Carl knows about why things got so bad between them. He has no idea whether Carl knows about Lori and Shane, whether he has ever looked at Judith and wondered just how closely they are related. He has no idea whether Carl realizes that there isn’t a day that goes by that Rick doesn’t regret Lori’s death. In the days that followed it, he was too lost in his grief and rage to consider Carl’s feelings. He turned away and left other people – Daryl included – to the task of putting his son back together again. He knows, deep down inside, that it was Michonne’s gentle teasing and Judith’s sweet smiles and Beth’s kind eyes that saved Carl, not him. 

And Daryl. Who opened up to Carl about his own mother’s death and knew exactly when to place a comforting hand on his shoulder and when to give him some space. Who defended Rick when Carl’s frustration got the better of him and reassured Rick when he gave up hope of ever winning his son’s respect back. Rick knows Carl considers Daryl a friend, despite the difference in their ages. Apart from Patrick, and maybe Michonne, Daryl is probably Carl’s _best_ friend. Rick hates the thought of taking that away. He hates the thought of Carl being upset with Daryl, being disappointed in him, hating him even. He is acutely aware that it is not just his relationship with Carl that is in danger here. 

The trouble is that he can’t bear the thought of not telling Carl either. He hates keeping secrets from him, especially ones as important as this. Parents who preached honesty to their children and yet lied to their faces when it suited them have always disgusted him. His mother taught him that openness and trust were the foundations of any strong relationship. He would rather Carl hate him because he knew the truth than love him in blissful ignorance. 

“I think we should tell Carl.”

They have been walking for half an hour when Rick breaks the companionable silence with words he hadn’t actually intended to say. Daryl ducks out from beneath Rick’s arm and glares at him. 

“Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” he demands, horrified by the suggestion. 

“He’s my son,” Rick says desperately. 

“Exactly,” Daryl snaps. “He don’t need to know nothin’ about this shit. _No one_ needs to know about this shit.” 

“Trying to keep me your dirty little secret, huh?”

The accusation is unfair, and thankfully Daryl is smart enough not to respond to it. 

“I sucked you off last night and I enjoyed it,” Rick remarks. Daryl blinks at him in confusion at the apparent subject change. “I want to do it again. I want to fuck you.” Daryl sucks in a sudden breath and licks his lips. Rick does him the courtesy of pretending not to notice. “I want _you_ to fuck _me_. This morning I was lying in bed thinking about what we will be like in twenty years. I’m in this for the long haul, Daryl.” 

Daryl hangs his head and mutters a curse at his feet before glancing back up at Rick. “Me too,” he says softly. 

“I don’t want to spend it sneaking kisses in cramped cupboards or making up excuses to go on runs so that we can have some private time together.”

“But Carl…you really think he’s ready to hear somethin’ like this?” 

Rick frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Probably not.” He sighs. “I know what it might cost me,” he continues quietly. “But I don’t want to go on deceiving him. It is tearing me up inside. We’ve been careful so far, but if he should somehow happen to find out about us of his own accord I really will lose him forever. At least if I’m the one that tells him, there’s a chance that he’ll eventually forgive me.” 

Daryl opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then steps forward to wrap Rick up in a tight hug. Rick lets out a shaky breath and rests his head on Daryl’s shoulder. 

“It ain’t gonna be pretty,” Daryl warns. Rick is stupidly grateful to him for not simply insisting that everything is going to be fine. 

“I know.” He shifts so that he can press his forehead against Daryl’s. Daryl’s fingers clench in the back of Rick’s shirt. They stand like that for a long moment, breathing each other in. 

“We should go,” Rick says reluctantly. He feels rather than sees Daryl’s answering nod. 

When Daryl steps away, he looks as though he is steeling himself to face a host of walkers rather than their family and friends. Rick hates himself for putting that look on Daryl’s face, that fear in his eyes, but there is no turning back now. Daryl wouldn’t let him, for one thing. Not now that he knows how important it is to Rick. 

Conversation on the drive back is sparse and stilted. Rick finds himself wishing he’d timed the conversation for when they were a little closer to home, instead of ruining what had been shaping up to be a pleasant day. 

They are ten minutes away when Daryl suddenly pulls the car off the road. He takes a deep breath, staring out of the front window and stubbornly ignoring Rick’s worried frown. “It ain’t my place to say,” he begins cautiously, “but if yer gonna tell Carl you oughta tell Michonne too.” 

Rick nearly chokes on his tongue in surprise. “What? I thought you didn’t want _anyone_ to know?”

“Carl’ll need someone to talk to. Someone to help process things,” Daryl explains. “And he sure as shit ain’t gonna wanna talk to you or me.” 

Rick pulls him into a fierce kiss. “What would I do without you?” he murmurs against Daryl’s lips. It still amazes him that someone whose parents were so bad at raising him can be so naturally good with kids. 

They return to a yard full of people. Carl and Beth are sitting with Judith on a picnic blanket. Carl jumps up to greet them as they drive through the gate. He looks happy. Maybe blissful ignorance is the way to go after all? Rick turns to Daryl to say as much. Daryl has a look of nervous determination on his face. Rick is so touched by the thought that Daryl is willing to do this for him that the words die in his throat. The truck comes to a stop and Rick flings himself out to pull Carl into a hug. 

“Find anything good?” Carl asks eagerly. 

Rick reaches into the truck and hands him a couple of comic books and a stale chocolate bar. 

“Sweet!” Carl exclaims. He tucks the books and the chocolate into his back pocket and moves to help Daryl unload the truck. Rick watches him proudly. 

A few other people come over to lend a hand, chatting excitedly about the haul. It isn’t long before the truck is empty. Carl has Judith in his lap. He is holding the toy elephant Rick and Daryl had brought home for her, making it walk up and down Judith’s chubby arms. Rick longs to join them, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Michonne heading inside with a box of laundry supplies. He makes to follow her, but Daryl shoots an arm out to stop him. 

“Go to your kids,” he urges. 

Rick shakes his head. “Michonne,” he says hoarsely. Now that they’ve decided on a course of action, he wants it done as soon as possible. 

“I’ll tell Michonne,” Daryl says firmly. 

Rick just stares at him, too stunned by the offer to make his mouth form even the simplest of words. 

“It’s like I said before,” Daryl murmurs, stepping in close and giving Rick’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Ain’t no reason you should do all the heavy lifting.”


	20. Chapter Twenty

Daryl follows Michonne into the depths of the prison, his palms sweaty and his heart pounding at least twice as fast as usual. He doesn’t think he has ever been this nervous before, not even on the night he first confessed his feelings to Rick. His actions then were made easier by the belief that he was acting for Rick’s sake. And there is literally nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure for Rick Grimes. So when his fear had paralysed him halfway up the guard tower ladder, he had taken a deep breath, told it to _fuck off_ and kept on climbing. Best decision he has ever made, in the end. 

This…this is different. Out of everyone at the prison – apart from Daryl himself – Michonne is the person who most appreciates who Rick Grimes is and what he means. She has been on the outside, just like Daryl was when he first encountered Rick at the quarry. She has seen the power Rick has to gather people around him and inspire them to become the people he believes them to be. Like Daryl, she knows what it is to long for Rick’s trust and respect and friendship. She knows how important he is. 

The thought of looking her in the eye and telling her that Rick – gorgeous, charismatic, _special_ Rick – has taken up with Daryl fucking Dixon makes Daryl’s skin crawl. She will think it is a sick joke at first. When she realises it is not, she will be horrified. Horrified and confused and disgusted. She will not understand why on earth a man like Rick Grimes would want a man like him. That’s okay. Most of the time, Daryl doesn’t understand it either. 

But whatever Michonne might think of them, however unworthy she believes Daryl to be of the gift he has been given, he is pretty sure she will keep their secret. She has never been one for idle gossip, for one thing. Whenever the Woodbury women start one of their dumb conversations about who should hook up and who they think already has, she either stays quiet or finds some excuse to leave. Like Daryl, she understands that there are far more important things to worry about. 

She also, like Daryl, feels she owes a debt to Rick that she will never be able to repay. Daryl is counting on her seeing this as a chance to contribute to repaying that debt, though he knows Rick has never seen it that way. Sure, it was touch and go for a while – there is no point pretending otherwise – but they all know that Rick has never regretted the call, despite the trouble it caused. Michonne doesn’t owe him anything. Or anyone else for that matter. She is _one of them_. She was one of them from the moment she picked up the baby formula that Glenn and Maggie were forced to leave behind, even if none of them knew it at the time. Everything she has done since has only reinforced that belief in Daryl’s mind, and, he is certain, in everyone else’s too. 

Well, everyone except Michonne herself. Daryl has caught her occasionally, hovering in a doorway looking torn between stepping into the room to join them and running like hell away from it. He knows she has seen the same look on his face once or twice. They don’t talk about it though. They don’t talk much at all really. Not about the things that matter. Theirs is a relationship based on jokes and banter and studiously avoiding talking about anything remotely serious. It is not quite a friendship, but Daryl still thinks he is going to miss it when it is gone. 

He catches up to Michonne in one of the storerooms. She is humming softly to herself as she stocks the shelves with laundry powder and towels. The corridor is full of people coming and going with boxes of their own, helping to bring in the goods Daryl and Rick brought back or taking supplies to the kitchen for dinner. Their conversations and laughter bounce off the cold grey walls. It isn’t difficult to convince himself that it is too busy, that there is too great a chance that they will be overheard. He turns to leave, promising himself that he will try again later. 

“You boys done good,” Michonne remarks approvingly, still with her back to Daryl. 

Daryl freezes. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. He grabs a small washcloth off the closest shelf. If anyone asks, he’ll claim he came down to grab a new cleaning cloth for his crossbow. The material is entirely wrong for the task, but he doubts anyone else would realise that. 

Michonne has turned around now and is asking him something about the trip. Daryl makes an educated guess that she is wondering how far they had to go, so he tells her about the drive and the other properties they passed that might also be worth checking out. He tells her about the empty fields and the wide, welcoming porch. He tells her about the well-stocked kitchen and the spare pillows and the attic full of baby clothes and toys. Now that he has started, the words come surprisingly easy, though he is conscious that he is talking around the subject rather than towards it. It is silly, but the house feels precious to him. The few hours he and Rick had spent there are among the happiest of his life. While he has no intention of telling Michonne that, he does find himself wanting to tell her about the books they could bring back to the prison library and the piles of wool that Carol might like to knit with and how soft the sheets were on the king-size bed in the master bedroom. 

The last one makes her laugh. The sound shakes Daryl out of his memories and back into the present. He blushes as he realises what he has just said. 

“Well I hope you made the most of that nice big bed,” Michonne remarks with a toothy grin. 

The red that had flooded Daryl’s face a moment ago now drains from it. He thought that kind of thing only happened in cartoons, but right now he’s pretty sure his face is as white as a sheet. She doesn’t know, he tells himself. She can’t possibly know. She might not be a gossip, but she would have said _something_ to Rick at least, if only to counsel him to break it off. And Rick wouldn’t let Daryl volunteer to tell her if he knew she already knew. He wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t. 

So, an innocent comment then, probably a reference to the pair of them getting a good night’s sleep for once. It is also, now that Daryl thinks about it, probably the best in he is ever likely to get for what he came down here to say. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to catch Michonne’s eye. Rick wants him. He is not ashamed. 

“We uh…we did, actually,” he says. 

He can see the moment the implication hits home. Michonne’s eyes, cloudy with confusion at first, suddenly clear. 

She smiles, slow and wide and genuine.

*

Judith’s new baby shampoo smells like lavender. The aroma fills Rick’s cell, making him feel warm and sleepy even though – as best as he can tell – it is still early. He is standing in the middle of the room, rocking her back and forth and singing a half-remembered lullaby when Carl pokes his head through the curtain to say good night. Rick’s stomach turns upside down.

“Hold up a minute,” Rick says quickly, before he can chicken out. “I need to talk to you.”

Carl steps fully into the room and pulls the curtain closed behind him. 

“Everything okay?” Carl asks with a worried frown. 

“Everything’s fine,” Rick says sincerely. “Better than fine. Things are as good as they’ve been for a long time.”

“Okay,” Carl says slowly. 

“Sit down,” Rick urges, gesturing towards his bed. “This might take a while.” 

Carl does as he is asked, holding his hands out for Rick to pass him Judith. She curls into him, one tiny hand resting on his chest. Beth had offered to take her for the night. Seeing them together now, Rick is glad he turned her down. Judith is still too young to understand anything anyone says to her. She will never need Daryl’s place in her life explained to her because she will never know any different. Still, it feels right to tell them together. Carl waits patiently as Rick paces up and down the narrow cell in silence. He knows what he wants to say, but he can’t seem to make his mouth form the words. He closes his eyes and pictures Daryl’s face when he’d pulled Rick aside after dinner, eyes bright and a disbelieving smile on his face. 

“It’s about Daryl,” he begins, “about Daryl and I. Together.” 

“Did something happen while you guys were away?” 

“No,” Rick says quickly. “The trip was trouble free. One of the easiest we’ve ever done. What I wanted to tell you is that Daryl and I…we’re… _together_ , Carl. Do you know what I mean by that?” 

Silence. Bitter, angry silence. 

“It means you’re a liar,” Carl hisses. “You’re gay, and you’re a fucking liar.”

Rick lets the curse slide. “I’m not gay,” he says firmly. “I loved your mother. I know you know that. When she died, I thought that it was it for me. I thought I would never want to be with anyone in that way again. I certainly never imagined I’d want it with another man. But Daryl…I care about him very much.”

“More than you care about Judith and me?” Carl asks spitefully, clutching Judith to his chest protectively. 

Rick doesn’t know what reaction Carl was hoping his unspoken threat would elicit, but the disappointed frown Rick gives him clearly wasn’t it. 

“I’m trying to do right by you here,” he sighs. 

Carl scoffs. 

“You keep telling me you’re all grown up,” Rick states, concentrating on keeping his voice calm and even. Yelling won’t help anything, and at the end of the day Carl has every right to be upset and angry. “I was hoping we could talk about this like adults.”

Carl doesn’t respond, verbally or physically. 

“The way I feel about Daryl changes nothing about the way I feel about you and Judith. Or about your mother. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and wish she was still alive. I wish she could see what we’ve built here. I wish she could see that we are safe and comfortable. I wish she could see you and Judith growing up. I wish we’d had a chance to work things out. Wishing won’t bring her back though. Nothing can bring her back.”

Carl watches him intently. His expression is guarded and closed-off, but at least he is listening.

“I think we are going to be here for a long time. We could survive here for years. And every year we’re here it’ll get easier and easier,” he continues. “I don’t want to spend that time alone.”

Lori always cautioned him about showing any form of weakness in front of Carl, but if Rick’s going to tell him the truth, he’s going to tell him the _whole_ truth. Besides, Carl’s seen him at far weaker points than this before. 

“If I had died in the hospital, I wouldn’t have wanted your mom to spend the rest of her life alone either. I would have wanted her to move on, to find someone else who makes her happy, to fall in love again.” He is skirting a little too close to emotional blackmail for his liking, but he can’t think of any other way to get his message across. 

“Like with Shane?”

Carl’s voice is full of challenge, but it is not malicious. Rick said he wanted to talk about the situation like adults. Now is his chance to prove it. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “Like with Shane.” 

Carl’s eyes widen briefly, and his mouth hardens into a firm line. If the implications regarding Judith occur to him, he doesn’t show it. It is frightening, how good he has become at hiding his feelings. 

“I know this must come as a shock,” Rick says gently. “It was for me too. I don’t expect you to be jumping for joy about it all. Hell, I don’t _expect_ anything. But I’m asking you, please, to try and understand.” There is a lot more he would like to say, about happiness and love and how Daryl has missed out on so much of that and how honoured Rick is that he is the one who gets to make up for it now. That is not his story to tell though, so he bites his lip and waits for Carl’s response. 

“Who else knows?” he demands. 

“Daryl told Michonne earlier today,” Rick replies. “He thought you might appreciate having someone to talk to about it that wasn’t me or him. He cares about you. More than you realise.”

Carl nods tightly. “Can I go now?” he asks after a long period of silence. 

Rick wants to refuse, wants to keep Carl with him as long as possible, but he has said all that he wanted to say. Well, almost all. “I love you,” he says fiercely, imploringly. 

Carl stands up, still holding Judith. “I love you too,” he says quietly. 

He takes Judith with him. The cell feels much too big without them.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Rick pushes a forkful of his dinner around his plate with significantly less enthusiasm than usual. The food is good – the fact that he genuinely enjoys eating squirrel never ceases to amaze him – but his stomach refuses to settle long enough for him to enjoy it. Carol is frowning at him from across the table. She suspects that something is wrong. In an attempt to convince her otherwise, Rick shoves some peas into his mouth, willing himself not to grimace as he swallows them down. He must succeed because she turns aside to engage Hershel in conversation. 

It has been two days since he told Carl about his relationship with Daryl. Carl hasn’t said a word to him since. Hasn’t even _looked_ at him since, as far as Rick can tell. It stings, but not enough to make him regret his actions. He feels bad for upsetting his son – of course he does – but at least he no longer feels a sinking sense of shame whenever he looks at him. Things between them might be strained as a result, but Rick can’t help but feel a little relieved that the truth is out now. And that he had told Carl himself. He hadn’t waited for Carl to figure it out on his own or for some unfortunate accident to reveal it. He _told_ him. That has to count for something, surely?

Plus, all things considered, Carl’s reaction hadn’t been the absolute _worst_ it could have been. He didn’t yell. He didn’t try to run away. He mastered his feelings long enough to listen to what Rick had to say. And despite his obvious anger, and the fact that Rick completely forgot to ask him to keep the information to himself, he appears to have kept their secret. That is not altogether surprising. As shocking as the news must have been, Rick can’t imagine Carl feeling even remotely inclined to share it with anyone. 

Even under normal circumstances, talking about your parents being romantically involved is embarrassing and something to be avoided at all costs. Rick can’t imagine how much worse it must be when your father is involved with another man. He and Lori tried to bring Carl up to be tolerant and open-minded, but he had been too young for them to sit him down to have serious conversations about gender and race and sexuality. About how none of that matters half as much as who you are and what you do and how you treat people. It is probably too late to try and rectify the oversight. 

A sudden burst of laughter shocks Rick out of his thoughts. He looks up just in time to see Jack and Simon entering the room wearing matching scowls and sweaters with giant cats on the front. 

“Looking good boys!” Maggie calls out amidst a chorus of wolf whistles. 

Jack gives her the finger, heedless of the children in the room. If anyone cares – and Rick is reasonably certain that they don’t – they keep it to themselves. Given that most of those children have now been taught the most effective way to put a sharp object through the skull of a walker, it seems silly to worry about them being exposed to swearing or rude gestures. 

After what feels like a year’s worth of hot, humid weather, things are finally beginning to change. It isn’t that noticeable when you are outside, and the sun has been up for a few hours, but the morning and evenings have been decidedly chilly of late. Yesterday Carol opened up the winter storeroom for people to stock up on blankets and winter clothes. The resulting scramble for the least hideous items of clothing was a source of considerable amusement. Even Rick had managed a wry smile at Maggie attempting to choose between an orange and yellow polka dot monstrosity and a hot pink cardigan with heart-shaped gemstones sewn around the neck. He is now the owner of a red and blue striped crewneck that, while not exactly to his taste, is a damn sight better than what some people ended up with. 

Daryl leans over to mutter in Rick’s ear, “I tell you yet how much I love the sweater you got me?”

Rick chuckles lowly. When Rick had presented Daryl with the sweater in question – a dark green v-neck – earlier in the day, Daryl had wrinkled his nose and flatly refused to wear it ever. 

“You sure?” Rick asks. “Cause I’m pretty sure there’s another one of those cat sweaters around somewhere.”

Daryl hums thoughtfully. “Nah, I’m good. Come see me when you’ve found one with a squirrel on it.” 

Rick throws his head back and laughs, throaty and warm. Under the cover of the raucous chatter still going on around them, he leans close and murmurs, “For you, I’d find one with _two_ squirrels.” 

Daryl blushes at bit at that, which frankly Rick finds too adorable for words. Daryl is smiling at the joke, but his eyes are serious. He has noticed the distance Carl has put between them, even if no one else has. Rick is abruptly taken back to the moment Daryl told him about Michonne’s reaction. He’d been so pleased and so surprised that, far from being outraged and disgusted by the news, she was genuinely happy for them. _Is_ genuinely happy for them. The memory, combined with the pressure of Daryl’s solid warmth against his arm, provides an anchor that Rick for which Rick is pathetically grateful. 

“He come to see you yet?” Daryl asks quietly. 

Rick shakes his head. 

“He will,” Daryl says confidently. “He’s like his old man. He don’t like wastin’ words. He just needs time to figure out what he wants to say.” 

Daryl must truly believe that. He has never been one for hollow words of comfort, either as a giver or a receiver. Rick feels a thousand times better than he had a moment ago. He drops his hand under the table and squeezes Daryl’s knee in appreciation. 

“You’ve got watch tonight, right?”

Daryl nods. 

“Can I come to you? Just for a little while?”

“You don’t gotta ask, man,” Daryl replies, knocking his shoulder against Rick’s. “Now finish yer meal before it goes cold.”

*

It is not as though the thought of his father one day loving someone else had never entered Carl’s mind before. He’s not a moron. He knows that people die and that the ones they leave behind have to find a way to move on with their lives. He knows that sometimes that means new best friends, new wives, new moms. He knows it doesn’t mean that anyone loves each other any less. He just…assumed that if it were going to be anyone, it would be Michonne. _Hoped_ it would be Michonne, if he’s being truly honest with himself, and isn’t that an important part of the whole being an adult thing?

Not that he doesn’t like Daryl. He does. It is kind of funny how much he likes him given how much he hated him during the first few weeks of them knowing each other. Back then, hating Daryl was easy. Shane hated Daryl right from the start. Therefore Carl’s mom hated Daryl, and therefore _Carl_ also hated Daryl. He heard them talking about Daryl when they thought he was too absorbed in food or a book to bother listening. He heard words like _redneck_ and _selfish_ and _stab them in their sleep_. He kept a close eye on Daryl and entertained fantasises of being the one to stop him doing something terrible, of saving everyone in the camp with his bravery. 

And then Sophia went missing, and Daryl threw everything he had into trying to find her. Carl missed most of the search while he was recovering at the Greene’s farm, but what he saw on the first day was enough to convince him that his mom and Shane were wrong about Daryl. He might have been weird and rough and bad-tempered, but that didn’t make him bad. It wasn’t much after that that he realised that not only was Daryl _not bad_ , but he was good in a way that Shane could never be. He may well be the best man Carl has ever known. 

“She’s a real pretty little thing.”

Carl glances up and finds himself looking at Louisa’s fond smile. “Yeah,” he replies slowly. 

He doesn’t mean it. Judith has never seemed like a little girl to him. She doesn’t own anything pink. She will never play with dolls or wear a princess dress or paint her nails. She will grow up learning to fight instead of flirt. She won’t ever need a boy to keep her safe. Carl will make sure of it. She’s not a delicate little girl. She’s tough and determined and…a little ass kicker. 

“Your daddy’s a good man,” Louisa says carefully. 

Carl narrows his eyes. He is pretty sure there is more to Louisa’s remark than an innocent observation about his father’s character. He tugs the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands, already regretting not having put on the gloves Michonne tossed into his cell last night. 

“I was so sad when I heard about what happened to your mom,” she continues, to Carl’s dismay. She has barely said two words to him before now. He can’t imagine what prompted her to come out to speak with him, about his mom of all things. All he knows is that he wants it to stop as soon as possible. “You must miss her very much.” 

He grunts in acknowledgement, willing her to get the hint. 

She doesn’t. 

“Your daddy must miss her too. It must get awful lonely sometimes. Especially for someone who is used to having someone to help him out.” 

It is shocking, how easy the words come out of her mouth. He wonders if maybe he has read the situation all wrong, if she really is just being friendly. But then her eyes drift over to the garden, where a familiar silhouette is digging up potatoes. They linger on his father’s back far longer than a friend’s would. Carl turns away. Daryl is there too. They are deep in conversation, most likely about the hunt Daryl went on this morning. 

Carl has never given much thought to marriage. He was too young to have a reason to before, and in some ways he has even less of one now, despite being older. As a child, he thought that, for a man at least, being married to someone meant that you never had to cook your own dinner or wash your own clothes. Now, he thinks that marriage is mostly about two people supporting each other in a way that no one else can. He isn’t sure exactly when his parents stopped doing that, but he does know that it was long before his father was shot. He knows that their reunion in Atlanta was not the magic reset button they hoped it would be. He could see how badly they both needed support, and how frustrated they were that they couldn’t find it in each other the way they used to. He watched with a heavy heart as every interaction his father had with his mother seemed to make him weaker instead of stronger. He saw with some confusion that the opposite was true with Daryl. He might not have understood it, but he definitely _saw_ it. 

He sees it now. Sees how the hard lines of tension in his father’s shoulders begin to ease the longer Daryl is with him. Sees how comfortable Daryl looks at his father’s side. He hears him chuckle more times in ten minutes than he has in all the time they’ve known each other. He sees the way they lean into each other when Rick straightens up to take a drinks break. 

Louisa, unbelievably, is still talking. She has moved on to something about needs now, and how Carl is old enough to understand them and…

“My dad already has everything he needs,” Carl interrupts. He is done listening to her, and he doesn’t care how rude he has to be to make her see that. 

Louis blinks at him, and then gives him a patronising pat on the shoulder. “If you say so,” she says lightly. 

She probably thinks he was referring to himself and Judith. He can’t blame her for that. Even he doesn’t realise that he wasn’t until he is halfway across the yard. 

“Hey,” he calls out, stopping a few feet away from the garden and scuffing his feet into the dry dirt, not wanting to intrude on what might be a private conversation. 

“Hey,” his father replies, surprised but clearly pleased by Carl’s sudden approach. 

Silently, Carl holds Judith out to Daryl. Bewildered, he takes her into his arms, his eyes darting between Carl and his father. With nothing now standing in his way, Carl steps forward and wraps his arms around his father’s waist. He hears Daryl beginning to walk away. He doesn’t know how to ask him to stay, so he speaks quickly, while Daryl is still around to hear it. 

“I think I get it,” he says, his voice muffled by his father’s shirt. “It’s weird, but I get it.”


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

At first, he feels quite proud of himself. Once he had processed the shock of his father’s news, he had been able to take a step back and consider the situation from a point of view other than his own. He had been able to see how his father’s relationship with Daryl might actually be a good thing, and not just for himself and Daryl. Daryl’s support makes his father calmer and wiser and saner. His father’s trust has brought Daryl out of his shell and turned him into a valued, reliable, respected leader. They are stronger together. _Better_ together. Anyone can see that. The deepening of their relationship bodes extremely well for the prison community. 

Not that he had considered that at all when he made his decision. He had thought only of his father, and what it would do to him to make him choose. He knows that he and Judith are his father’s first priority. He knows that there is nothing his father wouldn’t do for them. He would have ended it with Daryl if Carl had willed it. There was no question about that. The only question was, could Carl live with himself if he did? 

Much to his surprise, he found that not only did he believe that the guilt of asking his father to make such a choice would be too much to bear, but that he didn’t particularly _want_ to make him choose. For one thing, he couldn’t see it achieving anything other than making his father miserable. It wouldn’t bring his mother back. It wouldn’t make his father fall in love with Michonne, as Carl had once wished he would. It wouldn’t make his father love him and Judith any more than he already does. It wouldn’t make them safer. It would just make his father sad, and lonely in a way that time with Carl and Judith could never satisfy. And it would almost certainly destroy the friendship he and Daryl have worked so hard to build. 

Carl doesn’t know much about Daryl’s past. The little he does know is enough to convince him that no one has ever treated Daryl Dixon the way Rick Grimes does. That, until his father came along, no one had treated Daryl the way he deserved to be treated. Of all of them, Daryl is the one who most deserves any small happiness that comes his way. Carl could admit that, even though the thought of his father being responsible for that happiness made him slightly uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as imagining how Daryl would cope with Rick’s rejection. 

He is fairly certain that, whatever his own feelings might have been, Daryl would have let his father end things without putting up a fight. He would have kept his distance, from Carl and Judith as well as their father, whether he was asked to or not. He would have retreated from them all and gone back to the Daryl they used to know. He would have suffered in silence. Assuming he had stayed in the prison at all. There was every chance that embarrassment would have driven him away for good. That was a risk that Carl was unwilling to take. In the end, he had chosen to support them mostly because he couldn’t think of a good reason not to. 

He _still_ can’t, if he is honest with himself. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from feeling as though he has somehow betrayed his mother by giving them his blessing. The feeling arrives suddenly, when he catches sight of them one morning, pressing their foreheads together briefly before Daryl sets off on a hunt. Now, whenever he sees them together, his mother’s face flashes into his mind, all wounded eyes and shocked, disbelieving mouth. He can hear her voice, twisted with bitterness and disgust, berating his father for his actions before turning on him for condoning them. He hates her for making him feel this way, and then he hates himself for hating her. 

It is something of a relief when, a week later, his father pulls him aside to tell him that he and Daryl are making another run out to the farm to pick up another load of supplies. He’ll miss them, of course, but the prospect of a break from the rotten feeling that has settled in his stomach is a welcome one. And they could always use more supplies.

*

“Damn,” Daryl mutters softly.

“You okay?” Rick asks, stepping out onto the porch and leaning on the railings next to Daryl. 

The night air is cool, but not unpleasantly so. To their delight, the house has not been touched since their last visit. Their bags are stuffed full of cans of food and clothes and books. They have feasted on tinned spaghetti, stale chocolate biscuits and half a bottle of red wine. Rick is already looking forward to falling into that lovely master bed again, preferably with Daryl beneath him. 

“’m down to my last smoke,” Daryl replies glumly. He twirls the lonesome cigarette between his fingers, clearly trying to decide whether to smoke it or not. 

Not for the first time, Rick is glad that he never acquired a smoking habit. From what he has heard, quitting is difficult even at the best of times. He doesn’t envy Daryl having to give up one of the few sources of stress relief he has left in the world under the conditions in which they now live. At the same time, he can think of much more pleasant things for Daryl’s lips to be wrapped around than a cigarette. 

“So, are you gonna smoke it now or save it for a special occasion?” he jokes. 

“You mean our second date ain’t enough of a special occasion?” Daryl retorts, shifting closer. 

“That depends,” Rick replies, turning his body into Daryl’s. “You planning on putting out?”

Daryl opts to light the cigarette, his hands curling around the match to protect the flame from the wind that’s starting to blow through the field. “Maybe,” Daryl hums, smirking at Rick. “Yer gonna have ta earn it though.” 

Rick doesn’t think he will ever get tired of seeing the playful side of Daryl emerge. He takes a step towards him, fully intending to take up the challenge, but stops when he sees that Daryl has over half of his cigarette left. It would be cruel to cut short this last indulgence, so he pauses. Daryl shoots him a grateful smile. The hand not holding his cigarette falls to Rick’s waist. He takes a deep drag before turning his head to exhale away from Rick, his eyes fluttering closed momentarily. Rick has to smile at the pure joy on Daryl’s face and decides right then and there that he will do whatever he can to find more smokes for Daryl, health risks be damned. 

Daryl cocks his head to the side and fixes Rick with a contemplative look. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it up to Rick’s lips. Rick eyes it warily for a moment before throwing caution to the wind and wrapping his lips around the offered end. He thrills at the way Daryl’s eyes darken in response. Rick inhales slowly, his lungs burning as he tries not to cough. Daryl takes another drag. When he exhales this time, Rick could swear he feels the smoke waft over his lips. The phantom sensation is more arousing than it has any right to be. 

Daryl’s lips are on Rick’s the moment he has finished grinding the butt of his cigarette into the floor. His mouth is warm and soft. He tastes like nicotine and red wine. Rick surges into the kiss, winding his arms around Daryl’s neck. The hand on Rick’s waist twitches as their hips slide purposefully together. Daryl makes a hungry noise and grips the front of Rick’s shirt in his fingers to pull him closer. Rick can’t wait to hear that noise again. He wants to hear it again right now. And again when he pushes Daryl up against a wall on their way to the bedroom, and again when he finally gets him laid out on the bed, naked and watching and waiting for Rick’s hands and mouth. He wants to know every wonderful, desperate noise he can pull from Daryl’s lips. 

Something of his intent must show on his face because Daryl takes a determined step backwards, yanking Rick along with him. Together they stumble into the house, neither willing to break the kiss long enough to move efficiently through the unfamiliar space. Still, they manage to make it to the bedroom with the bare minimum of banged knees. Rick’s mouth is kiss-swollen and tingling. His heart pounds against his chest. 

Daryl’s hand sneaks beneath the waistband of Rick’s low-slung jeans, fingernails raking across the base of Rick’s spine. Rick lets out a hoarse moan and redoubles his efforts to get Daryl’s jeans unbuttoned. It’s not easy, not with the way Daryl is rolling his hips in small insistent circles and dragging his mouth down the column of Rick’s throat. He achieves his goal eventually though and is rewarded with a sharp gasp from Daryl when Rick brushes his thumb over the leaking tip of Daryl’s cock. Daryl’s hands drop down to Rick’s ass, squeezing firmly. 

“Daryl…fuck,” Rick groans. “Want you.” 

Daryl laughs against Rick’s skin. “You don’t say,” he murmurs dryly. 

“No,” Rick replies, wriggling his hips so that the tips of Daryl’s fingers slip into the top of the cleft of his ass. “ _Want_ you.” 

Daryl pulls back and fixes Rick with a serious look. “You know what yer askin’ for?” 

“Yes,” he says, softly but surely. He curls his fingers around Daryl’s jaw before pressing a light kiss to his lips. “ _Yes_. You gonna give it to me?”

Daryl groans lowly and rocks into the welcoming circle of Rick’s fist. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Give you anything you want.” 

“Please,” Rick whimpers as Daryl deftly undoes the button of his jeans. “Please.” If they don’t get a move on, he is going to come long before Daryl gets so much as a finger inside him. 

“Lay down for me,” Daryl urges, stepping out of his jeans and gently pushing Rick towards the bed. 

It is not quite how Rick envisioned the evening playing out, but he can’t regret that when Daryl crawls between his legs and takes Rick’s cock into his mouth. They’ve done this enough times now for Daryl to know exactly what to do to turn Rick into a shivering, panting mess in no time at all. Rick lets himself be worshipped, his back arching as Daryl’s mouth moves expertly over him. He winds his hands in Daryl’s hair, expressing his enthusiasm and appreciation in short tugs and light scratches over Daryl’s scalp. 

One of Daryl’s fingers dips down to trace around Rick’s entrance. The experience had taken some getting used to the first time, but now Rick longs immediately for _more_. He spreads his legs invitingly and props himself up on his elbow to watch Daryl opening him up. Daryl adds another finger in response to Rick’s silent request. He keeps on sucking at the head of Rick’s cock as his clever fingers twist and stretch. Rick pushes himself down to meet Daryl’s fingers, one foot planted flat on the mattress to give himself better leverage. Just as it becomes almost too good for Rick to bear, Daryl backs off, dropping kisses on Rick’s inner thighs and slowing the movement of his fingers down to a gentle scissoring motion. It is pretty much the best thing Rick has ever felt. Part of him wants to come like this, to fill Daryl’s mouth and then kiss the taste away. As for the rest of him…

“Now,” he gasps. He is shocked by the raw need in his voice, but not enough to stop. “Please, Daryl. Do it now.” 

Daryl looks up, his eyes blown black with desire. His hands are trembling. Rick pulls him up the bed and into a surprisingly leisurely kiss. The air between them is heavy with the smell of sex. Rick watches from beneath hooded eyelids as Daryl slides off the bed and grabs a condom from the pocket of his jeans. 

“Someone came prepared,” Rick quips. Daryl flushes, and glances over at Rick with wide, uncertain eyes. 

“I’m sorry…I wasn’t…that’s not…we don’t have to,” Daryl stammers. 

Rick grins at him. “Sweetheart, stop apologising and get over here and fuck me.” 

The bed bounces as Daryl practically hurls himself back down upon it. His hands scrabble for purchase on Rick’s sweat-slicked skin as he lifts his thighs up to hook around his waist. Rick licks his lips as he watches Daryl carefully roll the condom on. He licks his hand and jerks himself a couple of times to get slicked up. 

Even with Daryl’s careful preparation, the first couple of seconds burns unlike anything Rick has ever experienced before. Rick’s breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut. Daryl moves to withdraw, but Rick digs his hands into Daryl’s sides to hold him in place. 

“Don’t you fucking dare” Rick growls through gritted teeth. 

“It’s hurting you,” Daryl protests. 

“You told me it would,” Rick counters, sliding his hands up to cup Daryl’s cheeks. “It’s worth it to feel you like this.” 

Daryl nods and slowly resumes his careful movements. He lets himself fall forward, resting his forehead on Rick’s shoulder. Rick’s hands press down on Daryl’s back, encouraging him to thrust deeper. Daryl’s knees slip beneath Rick’s hips, and Rick lets out a loud, guttural moan. 

“Daryl,” he cries. 

“I know,” Daryl replies, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Rick’s neck. “Fuck. I know.” 

“Harder,” Rick begs. “I can take it, Daryl. Wanna feel it. Wanna feel _you_.” 

He can’t imagine what he looks like, stuffed full of Daryl but begging for more. He can’t bring himself to feel ashamed though, not when Daryl is so clearly enjoying the sight. Rick tightens his legs around Daryl’s hips. Daryl finally, _finally_ loses his composure, his hips snapping forward of their own accord. Rick groans shamelessly. A litany of words fall from Daryl’s lips, full of praise for Rick and how hot and wet and _tight_ he is. It is too much for Rick and not quite enough at the same time. He wraps a hand around his cock and strokes himself in time with Daryl’s thrusts. 

“Yeah,” Daryl exhales shakily. “That’s it darlin’. With me. Come on.” 

Daryl is the one begging now, and Rick doesn’t have the heart to refuse him. He pays close attention to the next couple of thrusts, feels them grow both harder and less precise as Daryl approaches his orgasm. Rick’s hand tightens on his cock. He is shaking when he comes, making a complete mess of his hand and stomach as he rides it out. Daryl is right there with him, muttering Rick’s name over and over in an awestruck tone. 

Eventually, he collapses next to Rick, who pulls him into a kiss that does nothing to calm their racing hearts. 

“That,” Rick pronounces when he feels capable of coherent speech once more, “was fucking _incredible_.” 

Daryl lets out a contented sigh. “You should have felt it from my end.”

Rick hums thoughtfully. “There’s always tomorrow,” he says hopefully. 

Daryl laughs and curls himself into Rick’s side.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update this last week - a family emergency kept me away from my computer.

He isn’t hiding. Not really. He is sat out in the open, after all. Anyone could come and join him if they wanted to. He’d be surprised if anyone did want to though, after his carefully orchestrated performance this morning. From the moment he stepped out of his cell, he avoided eye contact wherever possible. If it wasn’t possible, then he scowled at whoever he happened to be looking at. He ate quickly and ignored all attempts to engage him in conversation. The only word he said was a curt ‘No’ when Patrick asked him if they were working in the garden today. He could feel at least three pairs of concerned eyes on him, but he refused to acknowledge them, either verbally or physically. Short of standing up and announcing it to the entire room, he couldn’t have made his desire for solitude any clearer. 

He refused to let them make him feel guilty for it. So what if he wants to spend the day without anyone speaking to him or looking at him or coming anywhere near him? He’s allowed to feel that way occasionally. Daryl goes off alone all the time, and no one bugs him about it. It isn’t weak or cowardly. It doesn’t make him troubled or scared. And surely sitting out in the yard alone is better than taking his frustration out on someone who doesn’t deserve it? 

He left the dining room with no particular destination in mind, but he is unsurprised when he ends up sitting in the grass by his mother’s grave. He can’t get her out of his mind at the moment. Not that he wants to, necessarily. He just wishes he were able to think of her without feeling as though his soul was dropping out of his stomach. He wishes he didn’t feel like he was betraying her every time he so much as looked at Daryl. 

“Fuck,” he says softly. And then again, because there is no one around to tell him off for it. “Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.” 

The blue sky and warm sun are completely at odds with his attitude, but it is too claustrophobic inside the prison for him to consider retreating to the grey walls that would more suit his dark mood. He finds himself feeling irrationally angry at the weather for not coming to the party. 

“My parents split up when I was ten.”

Even if Carl hadn’t recognised the voice, he could have made an educated guess at the speaker. There are only two people brave – or stupid – enough to approach him when he is in a mood like this, and one of them is currently away from the prison on a run. 

“Even back then I was surprised it took them that long,” Michonne continues. “I can’t remember them ever going more than a couple of days without arguing. None of the kids I went to school with had parents who fought like mine. I cried when my father eventually left, but part of me was relieved.”

There’s a life lesson coming along any minute now, Carl knows there is. As much as he hates the thought, Michonne _never_ opens up to people like this. He can’t help but feel honoured. 

“My father moved onto somebody else pretty quickly. Hell, for all we knew he already had somebody else. He drifted in and out of our lives for a while, but he never cared about us all that much until my mother took up with one of the local mechanics. Mike didn’t have much money, but he made my mother happy, and he was so good to me. He helped me with my homework when my mom was working. He took me to the park on weekends. He read me stories and talked to me and taught me how to cook. I adored him, and I hated myself for it.”

And there it is. Still, Carl has to hand it to her. It is easy to ignore a well-meaning but ultimately unwanted piece of advice. It is a lot more difficult to ignore someone telling you that they’ve been through some of what you’re going through, that they _understand_. 

“My father hated me for it too. He had no interest in raising me himself, but he couldn’t stand seeing another man do it either. He stopped coming around. Then he stopped calling. Before I knew it ten years had gone by, and I hadn’t spoken to him once.”

He looks at her for the first time then. 

“I’m sorry.”

The response is automatic, but that doesn’t make it insincere. Even when his parents were fighting bitterly with each other, he never doubted their love for him. He can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for Michonne to have her father willingly remove himself from her life. 

Michonne shrugs. “I survived. The point is, your mother would never have reacted liked that. She would have been glad that your father found someone to love and support him. And she would have been glad that he found someone that you could love as well. Someone who wouldn’t just take care of your dad but who would look after you and Judith like you were his own.”

Carl frowns. He can’t argue with her about that last point. Daryl had treated them like family long before he got together with Carl’s father. The first point, however…

“How can you say that when you never knew her?” he demands, curious rather than angry. 

The smile Michonne gives him in response is equal parts fond and sad. “Because I know your father. I find it difficult to imagine him with a partner whose heart wasn’t as good and as generous as his.”

Carl looks away to hide the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. 

“No one is asking you to forget her, or how much you loved her. Just don’t let it stop you from being happy _now_.”

She leaves it at that, thankfully, and they spend the next half an hour staring in silence at the row of graves.

*

Daryl sets his lukewarm coffee on the bathroom counter. He leans back against it to drink in the sight of naked Rick Grimes stepping into the shower. The sharp curve of his back. His lean legs. The way the water makes the hair at the nape of his neck even curlier than usual. His smile when he glances over his shoulder, silently asking Daryl to join him. He is easily one of the most beautiful things Daryl has ever seen. The sight is made all the sweeter by the memory of the way that beautiful man had opened up for Daryl the previous night, the way he had clung to him and murmured his name.

Rick lets out a long groan – only partly exaggerated – as he tips his head back beneath the shower’s warm spray. Daryl rolls his eyes. 

“You _still_ complainin’ about yer ass?”

“It really hurts,” Rick whines, hamming it up. He neglects to mention that it is a good kind of hurt. He suspects Daryl knows anyway. “You’re not exactly small, sweetheart.” 

The corner of Daryl’s mouth tugs into a pleased smile at that, but he quickly hides it by pulling his t-shirt over his head. 

“Promise I won’t do it again then,” he says, tossing his shirt to the floor before reaching for his belt. 

“You _better_ do it again,” Rick growls, reaching for Daryl as he steps into the shower. 

“You sure you can handle it?” Daryl teases. 

“I can _handle_ it just fine,” Rick retorts, wrapping a confident hand around Daryl’s rapidly hardening cock. The whole playful sex thing is still quite new to him, and it turns him on more than fancy lingerie and candles and rose petals ever did. 

“You're better than fine,” Daryl replies, wrapping a hand around Rick’s neck and drawing him into a kiss. 

He keeps it chaste at first, a closed-mouth meeting of lips that nevertheless sends tingles down his spine. Rick jerks him through it, the slow slide of his hand mimicking the movement of his tongue when it eventually slips between Daryl’s lips. 

Rick hums happily as they part. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he remarks, wrapping his free hand around Daryl’s waist and pulling him closer. 

“Ain’t tryin’ to get _everywhere_ ,” Daryl replies, walking his fingers down Rick’s spine to the swell of his ass. 

Rick laughs into Daryl’s neck and rubs the pad of his thumb over the head of Daryl’s cock. Daryl groans and lets one of his fingers slip down between Rick’s cheeks. “Flattery’ll get you there too.” He runs his lips up Daryl’s throat to his jaw, which he nips lightly. 

Daryl sniggers. “Not today it won’t. I ain’t interested in hurtin’ ya.” 

Rick thinks about protesting but quickly dismisses the notion when Daryl drops to his knees. He spreads his legs in response to give Daryl better access, licking his lips in anticipation of the pleasure he knows is imminent. The stretch heightens the ache that throbs inside of him, but it isn’t enough to make him want to stop. Not when he knows how good it is going to feel. 

The eagerness with which Daryl sucks him down makes Rick’s head spin. His head falls back against the tiles with a dull thud. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “You are so fucking good at that.” 

Daryl smirks up at him and swallows around Rick’s cock. Rick’s fingers twitch in Daryl’s hair. One of Daryl’s hands slides up the back of Rick’s thigh, his thumb brushing against the bottom curve of Rick’s ass. Rick immediately arches back into the touch. Daryl wraps his free hand around his cock, stroking himself as he swirls his tongue around one of Rick’s balls. 

“ _Daryl_ ,” Rick groans, panting heavily now. 

It takes Daryl barely any time at all to turn Rick into a shivering, incoherent wreck. He comes with a hoarse cry, one hand still fisted in Daryl’s hair and the other scrabbling for purchase on the slippery tiles. Daryl gets to his feet and crowds Rick against the wall, kissing him deeply. Rick’s hand returns to Daryl’s cock. He’s about to get on his knees to return the favour when Daryl lifts Rick’s free hand to his mouth and wraps his lips around two fingers. 

“Ain’t no reason you should have all the fun,” Daryl remarks, scraping his teeth along the sides of Rick’s fingers before releasing his hand. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Rick confesses, leaving his hand hovering awkwardly in the air between them. 

Daryl steps away, ducking his head to avoid Rick’s eyes. “Don’t have to do nothin’ if ya don’t want to. I can take care of myself.”

“Hey,” Rick says quickly, surging forward and wrapping his arms around Daryl’s waist. “Don’t do that. I want to. I just don’t want to fuck it up, that’s all.” 

Daryl studies him intently, trying to work out if he’s lying. After a long moment, he relaxes into the embrace. “Just take it slowly,” he advises. 

Rick nods, trying to bring to mind everything Daryl had done when he’d done this for him. “I can do that.” 

Tentatively, he slides his hand around to cup Daryl’s ass. He keeps his eyes fixed on Daryl’s, watching for any sign of discomfort. He sees only trust and desire. He takes it very slowly, moving from tracing small circles around Daryl’s hole to carefully working one finger inside. The first time he manages it, Daryl lets out a string of curses. 

“Did I hurt you?” Rick asks, frowning. 

Daryl shakes his head. “I spent nearly every night last week doing this to myself. It’ll take a lot more than that to hurt me.” 

Rick’s throat goes dry and cock, though recently satisfied, twitches excitedly. He slips a second finger in, thrusting shallowly. “You really do this to yourself?” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, trying to decide whether to indulge his curiosity or not. “Do you…”

“Think about you?”

Rick nods. 

“What the fuck else would I be thinkin’ about?”

Rick grins, and curls his fingers experimentally. Daryl shudders and seals their lips together once more. He tries it again, pressing a little deeper. This time, Daryl keens into Rick’s mouth. It’s exhilarating and wonderful, and Daryl is so fucking warm and tight and Rick cannot wait to fuck him. Daryl must like the idea too because the moment Rick is done telling him, Daryl comes. His head drops to Rick’s shoulder as he gasps and curses his way through it. 

“Well it’s fair to say you didn’t fuck it up,” Daryl murmurs shakily, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Rick’s shoulder. 

“What can I say? I had a good teacher.”

“Damn straight,” Daryl replies, sneaking one last kiss before stepping out of the shower. “Now get yer ass out of that shower so we can head home.”


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Tentatively, Daryl pulls back the curtain and peers out into the corridor, glancing left and then right to make sure that no one else is around. It is still early, but not so early that it would be impossible for him to be caught sneaking out of Rick’s cell. The situation wouldn’t be completely inexplicable, but Daryl has always been a terrible liar. Carol and Michonne would almost certainly see through him immediately. Best to avoid people all together, just to be safe. 

Luck is on his side – or so it seems at first – because he makes it all the way to the dining room without encountering another soul. His resulting relief doesn’t last for long. He initially thinks the room is empty, and then he hears the unmistakable sound of Judith’s happy gurgle, sees her sat on Carl’s knee in the corner of the room. Carl is feeding her from a small bowl, praising her softly every time she swallows a mouthful instead of knocking it away. Daryl freezes. 

He has never been very good with kids. Not even when he was one himself. He was always too rough, too quiet, too awkward, too _poor_. He didn’t have the right hobbies. He didn’t wear the right clothes. He didn’t speak the right way. His parents didn’t love him the way other parents loved their kids. His family’s reputation embarrassed him, and embarrassment made him angry. His anger was calmer, more controlled than Merle’s, but it still isolated him from the people around him. 

On top of that, he had been forced to grow up much quicker than most of the other kids he knew. It left him with a world-weariness that would take most men a lifetime to cultivate. His life experience was a world away from those of the kids he went to school with, and he never learned how to bridge the gap. He never learned how to talk about himself without feeling like he was being judged. He never learned how to talk to other people without it seeming like _he_ was judging _them_. It only took two or three failed attempts for him to give up entirely. He is pretty sure he hasn’t tried to befriend someone since he was nine or ten years old. No one was interested in befriending him either, so he came to not just tolerate his own company but to prefer it. The fact that he even has friends now still baffles him sometimes, never mind the fact that his friends are such good people. 

The older he got, the more uncomfortable he felt around children. Anyone more than a couple of years younger than him, in fact. He found their bright smiles, their confidence and their optimism physically painful at times. They became an unpleasant reminder of all the ways his life could have been different, all the things he never did. It never bothered him much before. He never planned on having kids himself anyway. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that Merle had a brat or two floating around somewhere, but Daryl was never going to play Uncle to them. Being good with kids wasn’t a skill he ever imagined needing to acquire. 

His insistence on being the one to take care of Judith in the early days following her birth had nothing to do with him feeling any kind of affection for the little girl. It was pure desperation. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more people. Not if he could prevent it. And if _he_ couldn’t bear it then who knows what it would have done to everyone else. She has grown on him over the past few months though. Her brother too. 

Daryl hasn’t been alone with Carl since Rick told him about their relationship. He is man enough to admit that he is pretty fucking terrified right now. If Carl hadn’t looked up the moment Daryl stepped into the room, he would have been tempted to turn around and head straight back to Rick’s cell. Carl might claim to be okay with the situation, but Daryl doesn’t see how that can be true. How could any teenage boy be okay with finding out his father was in a relationship with another man, and a Dixon at that? He would like to take this opportunity to apologise to Carl, but he can’t make his mouth form the words. 

“You’re good with her,” he says instead, as Carl gently wipes Judith’s face. 

Carl looks up at him and smiles. “So are you.” 

Daryl feels the colour rush into his cheeks. Carl gives him a calculating look. 

“You’re good with all of us,” he adds softly, holding Judith out to Daryl. 

Daryl isn’t sure if Carl is referring to the Grimes family specifically or the group in general. Either way, it is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him. 

He is spared the challenge of coming up with a response that isn’t just one big sob of gratitude by the arrival of Carol and Hershel. Daryl takes Judith from Carl so that he can tuck into his breakfast. He balances her on his hip as he spoons stale cereal into his bowl. Carol watches his every move with a fond smile that both pleases him and makes him a bit uncomfortable. If there is anyone in the prison capable of working out what is going on between him and Rick without either of them saying a word, it’s Carol. 

“You want me to hold her while you eat?” she asks, running her fingers tenderly through Judith’s hair. 

“I’m good,” Daryl replies. Carol’s offer would certainly make eating breakfast easier, but now that he has Judith in his arms he finds himself strangely reluctant to let her go. 

Carol gives him a look that is just on the friendly side of suspicious. “Okay,” she says evenly. 

Thankfully she leaves it at that.

*

Rick’s fingers tremble as he works Daryl open. He has done this a couple of times now, but it never gets any less overwhelming. The heat and the tightness around his fingers are enough to send shivers down his spine. And don’t even get him started on the noises it draws from Daryl. Loud, wailing moans and Rick’s name called out to the sky.

At least, he would be making those kinds of noises if they were somewhere where they didn’t have to worry about being overheard. Unfortunately, last week they cleared out ‘their’ farmhouse of the very last of its useful supplies, leaving them with no need to leave the prison for a good few weeks. It had been a strangely melancholy affair, as if both of them knew that it was their last chance to be truly alone together for a while. They had taken the pillows from the master bedroom as a memento of the short time they had spent there, a display of sentimentality that until recently Rick would not have believed Daryl capable. 

“More,” Daryl demands softly. “Come the fuck on, Rick. We ain’t got all day.” 

Rick crooks two fingers just so and presses down on Daryl’s prostate. As much as he misses the volume of Daryl’s usual exaltations, Rick has to admit that the breathy little moans Daryl is letting out now have a certain kind of charm. They do make him feel like a bit of a moron, though, for having ever entertained the thought that Daryl might not be into sex. 

“ _Rick_.” 

“Nearly there,” Rick soothes, adding a third finger. Daryl makes a disgruntled noise, but Rick refuses to rush. He might have done this plenty of times before, but he’s never done it with the intention of stretching Daryl enough to take Rick’s cock. Daryl was so careful the first time he did this for Rick, is _always_ so careful when he does this for Rick. Rick has no intention of not showing Daryl the same courtesy. 

By the time Rick is satisfied that Daryl is ready for him, his hands are shaking so badly that Daryl has to help him slide the condom on. 

“Hush,” Daryl says when Rick tries to apologise. “Ain’t nothing to be sorry about. Kinda flatterin’ actually.”

Rick laughs and presses a tender kiss to Daryl’s cheek. “You ready for me?” he asks, infusing his voice with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. 

“Darlin’, I was _born_ ready for you,” Daryl replies, hitching one leg up and hooking it around the back of Rick’s thigh to pull him closer. 

It takes Rick a couple of seconds to get himself properly lined up. And then a few more to work up the courage to press forward with the force necessary to pass through the tight ring of muscle. When he finally manages it, he nearly comes right then and there. The tightness he had been enjoying around his fingers feels even better around his cock. He had no idea it would feel this good. Daryl rakes his nails down Rick’s back, silently encouraging him to be bolder in his movements. The next time Rick presses forward, Daryl clenches around him. 

“Fuck,” Rick exhales, his lips brushing the shell of Daryl’s ear. 

“Good?” Daryl asks, smirking up at Rick. 

“So good,” Rick murmurs in response. “No wonder you made me wait so long to try it. You realise you’re not going to be fucking me half as much as you used to now. We’ll have to take turns.”

“I could – oh _fuck_ – I could be okay with that.” 

Rick leans down and captures Daryl’s lips in a searing kiss. Daryl tips his head back as he arches up to meet Rick’s thrusts. Rick takes the opportunity to trail his lips along Daryl’s jaw and down the column of his throat. 

It is not exactly Rick’s finest display of self-control. He feels like he has only been in Daryl for a couple of minutes before he’s coming with a low groan. He would feel a lot worse about the situation if Daryl weren’t a mere five seconds behind him. 

“That was amazing,” Rick pants, collapsing on top of Daryl and tangling their sweaty limbs together. 

“Mmm hmm,” Daryl hums in post-orgasm lethargy. 

The lack of windows makes it easy to lose track of time inside the prison, but Rick figures they have at least an hour or two before anyone is likely to come looking for them. He rolls over onto his side and curls up against Daryl, determined to enjoy the afterglow for a while. 

“You’re a lot better at this than I thought you’d be,” Daryl observes later, as Rick is buttoning his shirt before they head down to dinner. Daryl is still in bed, propped up on one elbow and gazing at Rick in a way that makes him want to forget all about dinner and climb right back onto Daryl’s bunk. 

“Gee thanks,” Rick says with a laugh. 

“Not what we just did,” Daryl clarifies. “You’re _excellent_ at that. I was talkin’ about keepin’ this whole thing quiet. I always figured you’d be useless at keepin’ secrets.”

Rick shrugs. “It’s important to you.” 

“Is it?”

Rick freezes, his fingers hovering over the last button. He fixes Daryl with a curious look. “You hate it when people ask you which direction you’re heading in when you go hunting,” he replies. “You told me months ago, before anything happened between us, that you couldn’t imagine anything worse than having your relationship scrutinised like Glenn and Maggie’s. I figured it was pretty safe to assume you didn’t want everyone knowing about us.” 

Daryl opens his mouth to respond, closes it again, and promptly turns a rather violent shade of red. It is a shade Rick has come to associate with those rare occasions when Daryl has something undeniably romantic to say. It is fast becoming Rick’s favorite color. 

“Go on,” he urges. 

Daryl groans. “I didn’t –” he begins, averting his eyes from Rick’s piercing gaze. “I didn’t have you then.” 

Rick’s face cracks into a broad grin. “Oh sweetheart,” he sighs. Daryl, still blushing, offers him a sheepish smile. “So you would be fine with us telling people?” Rick pushes. Daryl might have implied as much, but Rick needs to hear him say the words. 

“I ain’t sayin’ I wanna stand up and make a big announcement,” Daryl clarifies. “But I guess I wouldn’t mind if we let our guard down a little bit, and people figured it out.” 

“Really?” Rick asks eagerly. 

“Yeah. ’m gettin’ tired of countin’ seconds to make sure I ain’t lookin’ at ya for too long,” Daryl grumbles. 

Rick throws his head back and laughs heartily at that. “Try watching all the women drooling over your man every time he wears a sleeveless shirt without being able to let them know that he ain’t up for grabs.” 

“So we doing this then?” Daryl asks, reluctantly rolling out of bed and pulling his jeans on. 

Rick steals a quick kiss before responding. “Yeah. I think we are.”


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

Dinner is somewhat anticlimactic, in the end. Rick presses himself as close to Daryl has he can while still being capable of eating. Daryl spoons peas onto Rick’s plate without asking him first. Rick feels as though he smiles a lot more, particularly at Daryl. When he reflects on the situation later that night, Rick is not all that surprised that no one seemed to find their behaviour remarkable. He highly doubts any of them have even considered the possibility that there might be anything more than friendship between himself and Daryl. Their friends are observant, but he guesses that it will take a lot more than an abundance of smiles to make them suspicious. The trouble is, he has no idea how far down Daryl is willing to let his guard drop. 

A week passes without comment from anyone. Rick starts slinging his arm around Daryl’s shoulders whenever they are walking together. Nothing. Another week passes. Daryl lets himself be caught leaving Rick’s cell on several mornings. Still nothing. Rick throws down his rake and rushes to Daryl’s side when he returns from a hunting trip. Pretty soon, it has been a month since they agreed to make their relationship public, and yet it remains as hidden as it had been before. Rick isn’t sure how to proceed. Like Daryl, he is unwilling to make a big deal out of the revelation, but he is becoming increasingly uncomfortable about keeping such a big secret from people he is supposed to trust and respect. 

“I just don’t know what else we can do,” Rick remarks, trailing his hands up Daryl’s bare thighs. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Daryl replies lazily, pressing up into Rick’s eager hands. 

“I can think of plenty of things,” Rick replies, dropping a quick kiss to the inside of Daryl’s knee. “But something tells me you ain’t going to go for me bending you over a table and showing everyone exactly what is responsible for your recent good humour.” 

“Damn right I ain’t up for it,” Daryl growls. He wraps one hand loosely around the base of his cock, stroking himself leisurely. “Think of something else.”

“Later,” Rick insists. “I’m a bit busy right now.” 

Daryl tangles his hands in Rick’s hair, twirling his fingers through the unruly curls. Rick looks up at him for a moment, smiles, and then returns to the task of tasting every inch of Daryl’s thigh. 

“Mine,” Rick growls, nipping at the curve where Daryl’s thigh meets his hip. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. _Mine_.” He punctuates each word with a kiss. 

“Yours,” Daryl gasps fiercely, arching his back. 

Rick surges up to capture Daryl’s lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves deep, lapping up Daryl's earthy tang. When they part, Rick shuffles back down the bed, his lips kissing a path down the center of Daryl’s chest. 

It is not about possession. Not really. It is about Rick’s obsessive need to take care of what belongs to him. Daryl is one of those things now, and Rick will happily spend the rest of his life taking care of him if Daryl will let him. 

“Rick,” Daryl pants, twisting his hand around his cock. “Love your mouth. Feels so fucking good on me.”

The praise spurs Rick on. He knocks his head against Daryl’s hand, batting it away so he can twirl his tongue around Daryl’s cock. He gathers up the precome that has been steadily leaking from the tip, then trails a series of kisses down to Daryl’s balls. He sucks one and then the other into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Daryl moans. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

Rick laughs and sucks at a particularly sensitive patch of skin midway down Daryl’s thigh. He rests his cheek against it for a moment, trailing his fingers reverently up and down Daryl’s cock. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, lifting his head to look at Daryl. 

Daryl squeezes his eyes shut. “Say it again,” he exhales. 

Rick cocks his head and smirks. “What do you need?”

Daryl, predictably, makes a noise of frustration. 

“What?” Rick asks coyly. “That not what you meant?”

“You _asshole_. You gonna give me what I want or not?”

Rick pushes Daryl’s thighs wider, encouraging him to bend his knees and plant both feet on the bed. “Don’t I always, _sweetheart_?”

“Yes,” Daryl replies brokenly, flushing red all over now. 

Rick sets about making good on his promise, loving the shiver that passes through Daryl at the first touch of Rick’s tongue to his hole. It took Rick a while to work up the courage to try this, even after Daryl had proven to him how good it could feel. He is so glad he finally managed it though because nothing makes Daryl lose control quite as much as Rick’s tongue fucking into him. He shakes and he pleads and he ends up looking like a complete wanton. Rick loves every second of it. 

Daryl grabs Rick’s hand and sucks two fingers into his mouth, scraping his teeth along the edge. The request is pretty fucking clear. As soon as Rick feels as though he can do so without hurting Daryl, he slips the first finger inside, all the way up to his knuckle. Daryl makes a strangled sound of pleasure and clenches around the digit. It isn’t long before Daryl is stretched enough for Rick to add the second finger. With practiced ease, he crooks them up to press against Daryl’s prostate. He teases Daryl for a few minutes, bringing him right to the edge before stopping for a few seconds. Just before the teasing becomes unbearable, Rick wraps his free hand around Daryl’s cock and jerks him smoothly. Daryl spasms, throwing his head back as he comes over Rick’s hand and his own thighs. 

“Come here,” Daryl urges. His hands are still trembling from his orgasm as he tries to grab Rick and pull him closer. 

Rick slithers up Daryl’s body, smearing sweat and come up Daryl’s stomach on the way. Either Daryl is still too fucked out to notice or he simply doesn’t care. Daryl wraps his arms around Rick’s back as Rick moves his hips against Daryl’s. The friction is exquisite. Rick tries to Daryl so, but what comes out instead is a garbled mess of groans mixed with Daryl’s name. Daryl turns his head so that he can kiss Rick’s neck and cheek. 

“That’s it darlin’,” Daryl hums, sliding his hands down to Rick’s ass and digging his fingernails into the warm flesh. “You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over me? I know you want to.”

Rick’s stomach tightens, and he buries his face in Daryl’s neck as he feels his orgasm begin to wash over him. When he comes to again, he finds himself staring at a bright red mark on Daryl’s neck, much higher than the ones he usually leaves. He grins, and soothes the tender skin with a gentle kiss.

*

Daryl wakes alone, which means he must have woken far later than usual. He is usually up before Rick, and up, fed and out on a run long before the rest of the prison stirs. He is too warm and content to muster up any real concern about the unplanned change in his routine. The stores are about as well stocked as they have ever been, so there is no real need for him to go out today. Rick would have woken him if anything major needed his immediate attention. He is entitled to sleep in late every once in a while.

He slides out of bed with a sigh, still aching from the previous night. Absent-mindedly, he runs his fingers over the red mark Rick sucked into his left thigh. The physical reminder of what they are to each other brings a smile to his face. Even though it has only been a few hours since he fell asleep in Rick’s arms, warm anticipation rushes over him at the prospect of seeing Rick’s smiling face at breakfast. It is a feeling that is fast becoming familiar to him. He pulls on his jeans, boots and a shirt before slipping out of Rick’s cell. 

Several people call out to Daryl as he enters the dining room. He raises his hand in acknowledgement, his stomach growling in response to the smell of frying potatoes. 

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty,” Michonne says, appearing suddenly at Daryl’s side. “Up late last night, were we?”

Daryl doesn’t miss the emphasis she places on the word ‘up’ or the way her eyes linger on his neck as she says it. 

“Jealous?” he asks. He doesn’t quite manage to get it out without blushing, but at least he isn’t overwhelmed with a desire to escape the conversation, as he has been on the other rare occasions when either Michonne or Carl has dared to broach the subject of his and Rick’s relationship with him. 

“Unbearably,” she replies drily. “I’ve always wanted beard rash in unspeakable places.” 

Daryl huffs out a laugh and knocks his shoulder companionably against hers. He glances around at the various tables, trying to spot Rick. When he eventually does, his jaw drops. 

“You okay?” Michonne asks, her face shifting instantly from amusement to concern. 

“Fucker’s wearin’ my shirt,” Daryl mutters, staring at Rick’s back. Heat pools in his groin. Apparently he _really_ likes the idea of Rick wearing his things. 

There is nothing particularly noteworthy about the shirt in question. Like most of Daryl’s shirts, it is black, ripped and bloodstained in multiple places despite the best efforts of the women who have taken up laundry duties for the prison’s occupants. It is also one of the oldest pieces of clothing Daryl has. There isn’t a single person sitting at Rick’s table who hasn’t seen Daryl wearing that shirt at least a dozen times. The chances of none of them noticing that Rick is wearing a shirt that doesn’t belong to him are slim to none. 

“Oh yeah?” Michonne remarks, reverting to amusement now that she knows nothing is seriously wrong. “What are you going to do about it?”

Just as she finishes asking the question, Glenn’s eyes land on Daryl. He furrows his brows, looks over at Rick and then elbows Maggie in the side before jerking his head, first in Rick’s direction and then in Daryl’s. She must not get it, because he leans over and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes widen slightly as she tries unsuccessfully to pass what is clearly a giggle off as some kind of cough. A murmur of confusion ripples around the table’s other occupants. Daryl can only watch as the message is passed along, and they all turn their eyes to Rick. 

Feeling unexpectedly calm, Daryl strolls over to the table. The murmuring only escalates as he approaches. Briefly he wonders which of them will have the balls to speak up first. He is unsurprised when it turns out to be Carol. 

“Rick, are you wearing Daryl’s shirt?” she asks warily. 

“Yeah,” Rick replies nonchalantly, looking up from his breakfast as though he has only just realised that people are staring at him. Daryl slides into the empty space next to him – the space that everyone knows belongs to Daryl even if they don’t truly know why – and does his best to avoid the curious glances people are sending his way. 

“It suits you,” Maggie says, her face the picture of innocence, when it becomes apparent that Rick isn’t going to volunteer an explanation. 

Rick turns to Daryl and smiles, his eyes glittering merrily. “Told you it looked better on me.” 

Rick has never said anything of the sort, and they both know it. Daryl recognises instantly that Rick is trying to give him an out. Weeks ago now, he had said he would be okay with people figuring their relationship out. He never said anything about officially confirming it. If he wanted to, they could turn the situation into a joke and get out of it without giving anything away. He takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes fixed on Rick’s, on the understanding he sees there. 

“Darlin’, I ain’t ever claimed otherwise,” Daryl drawls, reaching out and brushing an errant curl from Rick’s forehead. 

The response could probably still be passed off as a joke, were it not for the way Rick blushes sweetly and leans into Daryl’s touch. 

There is a moment of stunned silence, and then Beth lets out what can only be described as a squeak, before clapping her hands together excitedly. The rest of the table is quick to join in with cheers and surprised laughter. The sound draws the attention of people sat at other tables, one of whom calls out, “What’s going on over there?”

“Daryl and Rick are in love!” Maggie exclaims, beaming at them. 

Daryl risks a glance at Carl. He is grinning so broadly his face could double as a replacement light source. Judith is rocking back and forth on his knee, picking up on the energy around her and contributing her own happy exclamations. 

He is not entirely sure that Maggie’s statement is one hundred percent accurate though he has his suspicions about _his_ feelings on the subject. But Rick makes no attempt to correct her, so Daryl sure as hell ain’t going to either. Instead, he shuffles close to Rick, steals a slice of potato from his plate and tries not to let how blissfully happy feels right now show on his face. He has a reputation to maintain, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. 
> 
> This is the end of the road for this fic. I've had a ball writing it, and I am so grateful to anyone who read and commented on it over the past few months. You have made me feel so welcome into this wonderful fandom. Thank you all very, very much. 
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> L


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